


The Language of Thorns

by KaedeRavensdale



Series: The Great Black Snake That Breathed Fire [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Grey Harry, Horcruxes, Lawful evil Tom, M/M, Mentions of Greek Mythology, Soul Bond, Soulmates, deals with death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-26
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 21:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 116,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28333698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaedeRavensdale/pseuds/KaedeRavensdale
Summary: Tom Riddle - beautiful, unobtainable, filled with so much power and potential and anger. Gone, now, because Harry had destroyed him down in the Chamber of Secrets when he stabbed the diary with the fang of the basilisk.So what in Merlin's name is he doing waiting for him outside of the train station, slightly older than when he'd seen him last and apparently lacking any intentions of making an attempt on his life?
Relationships: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle | Voldemort
Series: The Great Black Snake That Breathed Fire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2103870
Comments: 285
Kudos: 1041





	1. A New Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> I have been taking a break from this fandom for a while now; I do have intentions to eventually finish what I've left hanging with my other works, or at least the bigger ones, but wanted to write something knew for HP to get back into it first so here we are. Not sure how often this will get updated because I don't have the time I used to these days, no longer being in school, but I'll do my best to at least update once a month if at all possible.

The place where the blade-long fang of the basilisk had pierced his arm was now reduced to little more than a scar; raised and puckered and not quite round, it reflected the glow of the sun with a sheen of silver-pink. Cold to the touch, just slightly, when Harry traced its ragged shape with the tips of shaking fingers. The train compartment shuddered beneath the beaten souls of his grey-tinged trainers. Overhead, trapped in her cage now that they drew near to platform 9 and ¾ , Hedwig's feathers rustled. 

Magic castles. Three headed dogs. Baby dragons. Elixirs of life, made from a stone. A Dark Lord, drinking the cursed blood of unicorns. Back to the Dursleys.

Phoenixes and silver swords. House elves trying to kill-sorry, protect-him. A diary containing the hungry memory of a boy-an orphaned, half blood unwanted boy-who’d once been like him. Who’d become the Dark Lord. Who’d tried to drain Ginny of all her life and color and had set the basilisk on him. Who’d only wanted to live instead of surviving, empty, as Harry was himself. And he’d killed him. Stabbed him, the diary, over and over and over again with one of the basilisks fangs until his hands had been covered in ink-too dark to be blood, but thick and hot all the same-and Tom Marvolo Riddle had broken into so many shards of ambition and venom and light. 

Then back to the Dursleys, once again.

As if he hadn’t just saved another student's life. As if he hadn’t nearly lost his own. As if he hadn’t killed someone again; someone whose death had made his magic shudder and scream, recoiling as if some integral part of it had been taken alongwith the specter of what could have been.

“-promise to at least write us, won’t you?”

Harry raised his head from the mark on his arm to blink blearily through his glasses at Hermione. “Yeah. Of course.” Provided he could manage to nick the necessary supplies and smuggle his owl out the window. “Enjoy your summers.”

Hermione would be going off somewhere with her parents. Ron was off to Egypt to visit his older brother, Bill, on a curse breaking job for Gringotts. And he’d be going back to prison. It was almost enough to make him wish that Tom _had_ managed to kill him.The train was slowing now. Drawing ever closer to his doom. And though Harry wished it would remain in that liminal state between arrival and travel forever he knew it wouldn’t. Of course, that didn’t stop him from dragging his feet. At least, dragging his feet as much as he dared. 

After bidding a farewell to Hermione, and plastering a fake smile onto his face to get past the Weasleys, Harry trudged through the barrier separating the platform from the muggle world and was promptly swept out of the station by the tide of commuters. Expectedly, his uncle wasn’t waiting for him. 

“I guess we’ll just have to wait here for a while, Hedwig.” There was a barely there tone of apology in his voice, buried deep beneath his own exhaustion, as he set the owl’s cage down against the off-grey pavement. “He did this last year too. But he still came. Eventually.”

“Did he?” Harry froze where he sat, eyes so wide he felt certain they’d pop out of his head and roll away across the floor. He knew that voice; dark and satiny and oh so minutely tinged with sarcastic derision. Knew that at once indulgent and painfully bored hum, made deep in the back of the other boy's throat. Knew the feel of the heat of him, at his back. “Well, I’m afraid he won’t be coming this time.”

Tom Riddle. Tom Riddle, who’d been so so _so_ very beautiful. Tom Riddle, who’d brimmed, once, with such ferocity and potential and brilliance. Tom Riddle, who’d told him that Lord Voldemort was his past present and future and looked upon him with dispassion as he’d laid dying on the filthy chamber floor. ‘This is what the great Albus Dumbledore sends his defender? A song bird and an old hat?’

But he was dead. He, Harry, had killed him. Yet he was there. Undeniably. It couldn’t be anyone else. Because no one else felt so...comforting to stand beside; as if a piece he hadn’t known was missing had slid back into place. Even knowing what he was, the sensation didn’t fade.

Behind him, Riddle continued talking. “I had to remain...polite. The place was warded after all-likely to keep him, and me, out-and I wouldn’t want my least favorite professor to be let in on all of this too soon. Though it didn’t seem to do a great job at protecting you from those despicable creatures.” Then, for a moment, his voice softened. Becoming delicate and crystalline and achingly genuine with...surely he was imagining the notion that Voldemort of all people could possibly understand. Let alone share his pain. “I saw your cupboard.”

A pause of silence where Harry didn’t dare to move and Riddle continued to measure him. Then, in a voice so quiet it was all but lost beneath the rumble of traffic. “There was a crawl space. In the attic of the orphanage where I lived. The matron would lock me inside until I was too big to fit. Until I learned how to make her stop. To make her hurt when she tried.” 

Finally, Harry turned. He wasn’t certain what he was expecting. Not what met him, that was for certain. The deep blue eyes were the same, guarded and sharp but not predatory the way he’d last seen them and his hair was perfectly in place, but he was slightly taller. Slightly older-early twenties, though more specific than that he couldn’t hope to guess-and dressed in Muggle clothing that looked to have gone out of fashion when his horse-faced aunt had been his age. In his hands, held in the loose grip of graceful fingers, was a wand as white as bone. 

“Yew.” He rolled the wand between his fingers. Watching him watch the play of light across the polished wood. “13 and ½ inches. Fairly rigid. Phoenix feather core. Brother to your own.” With the fluid grace of a striking serpent he moved, arm and wand extending, and Harry reared back with a yelp. Cursing himself for having his own locked in his trunk in a bid to keep Vernon from snapping it. Braced for a curse or hex of some sort to be lobbed at him, only to realize that the young image of the Dark Lord was _offering him his wand_ and that his smoothly raised brow made him look disconcertingly like Snape. “But our wands are not the only thing about us that are bound together. There is much that will need to be explained before you understand. Have you eaten since you left school?”

The grumble of his stomach answered that question before he could. Tom pushed his wand at him again, the expectation clear, and with marked reluctance-he didn’t want his supposed worst nemesis armed but didn’t particularly want to touch a wand that had-would?-kill so many-that he took it. Golden sparks shed from its tip and a sense of deep relief flooded through him. His magic finally settled, content, as it hadn’t been since before the diary's destruction. Tom rocked back on the heels of his polished shoes, the darkening of his eyes the only sign he felt it too. 

“We’ll go to the Leaky Cauldron.” He waved his hand, Harry’s trunk shrinking and the owl cage-after opening to free Hedwig- doing the same, and it became immediately bloodchillingly clear that disarming himself had merely been a gesture of consideration. Those abyssal eyes sized him up a moment further, then seemed to come to some consensus Harry couldn’t name. “I doubt you trust me enough to take my hand if I offered, so apparition is off the table. We’ll settle for the more...uncomfortable alternative.” 

“A taxi?” Harry was proud of how little his voice wavered when he spoke. The image of Voldemort, at any age and in any capacity, using public transport was ridiculous.

A sneer pulled at the corners of his lips, unveiling the points of his canines; perfectly white and sharp, like a snake’s. “The Knight Bus, Potter.”

“I’m sorry?”

Riddle just stared at him. Then sighed. “Step up to the curb and raise your wand hand out into the street.”

Trusting his word on anything was doubtlessly a bad idea but at this point Harry, not quite yet thirteen and stranded in the middle of London by some variation of the Dark Lord who, at least for the moment, didn’t appear as inclined towards killing him as he’d have expected. So Harry stepped up to the curb and raised his wand and toppled over with a yell when a triple decker brilliantly purple bus exploded into existence so close in front of him that it nearly ran over his foot. Blinking through the smeared lenses of his glasses, now perched lopsided on his nose, Harry caught sight of his companion’s judgmental stare.

“The very picture of dignity and grace, Harrison.” He drawled. “Majestic.”

Harry opened his mouth to snap out a retort only to be interrupted by a young man with a pock marked face who came bounding down the stairs to meet them. “Welcome to the Knight Bus. I’m Stan Shunpike and that,” he motioned over his shoulder at the form of an ancient man curled forward in an equally old armchair that appeared to be falling apart at the seams. “Is your driver. Ern. Where ya headed today?”

“ _The Leaky Cauldron._ ” Tom didn’t bother to offer him help in getting up off the ground, either because he didn’t care for his predicament or because he knew he wouldn’t take it, and, after handing over a glittering coin, brushed passed Stan with a grace that Harry could only hope to match on a broom. The little raven was left no choice but to follow. There was a chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the crystal fractals dripping from its arms reflecting his confusion back at him in multitude miniature. “Were I you, I’d hasten to sit before they start moving again. This monstrosity of a means of transport is always...rough.”

The budding Dark Lord had collapsed into a bench, all long limbs and sharp teeth, and was watching him with those near black eyes. He was only twelve, though it wouldn’t be long before he reached thirteen. Harry didn’t really understand what such things meant, or the gravity of attraction, but if sixteen year old Riddle had been gorgeous there were simply no words for the version in front of him who’d had a few more years to fully grow into his features. 

This was Voldemort for Merlin’s sake! What was he doing? Voldemort, who should be little more than a wraith without a body of its own or even another’s to cling to like a parasite. Voldemort, who’d inhabited a diary as a starving memory and whom he’d stabbed to death with a basilisk’s fang. Voldemort who’d ‘politely’ spoken to his relatives; who’d waited at the train station to kidnap him for the seeming sake of feeding him; who’d handed over his own wand which he didn’t need to cast even complex spells without so much as a word, but in a gesture which nevertheless echoed with something undeniable about his-immediate-lacking intent to harm. 

Harry didn’t quite react in time because the next thing he knew Stan had shouted “take her away, Ern!” and the bus had lurched harder than the mountain troll whose back he’d jumped atop the year before. Harry’s feet left the ground and he toppled backward onto a bench a flick of Tom’s wrist had conveniently slid into place and which the movement of the vehicle sent careening away down the length of the aisle with a horrible metallic clatter. Then back again as the bus switched directions and barreled down a side street. The bench Tom had seated himself on was the only one not being tossed wildly about, no doubt on account of some spell or another, and Harry made a desperate leap for the open half of it as he went past again.

“Enough of the Knightbus experience already Harrison?” Amusement crinkled the skin around his eyes and revealed the just-barely-there chip on his front tooth. In that moment he looked at once far too perfect-a carnivorous plant, every aspect of him a honey pot to draw in his prey-and so shatteringly painfully unbelievably human and alive that Harry couldn’t help but stare. Could begin to understand, if only a little, why so many had fallen into line with the whims of this man who burned with cold fire yet somehow still felt warm. And he was drawn in. A moth to a flame. A comet to an all devouring sun. Ever doomed to collide.

He still had his wand. 

“It won’t be much longer before we arrive. We’ll rent a room for you to leave your things and then have a light lunch. Then we’ll head to Gringotts; I’ve business with the Goblins. Business you’ll need to be present for.”

“What business would that be?” Harry would be lying if he claimed he’d ever been fond of goblins. 

“Numerous things we will discuss over lunch, when I can ensure we won’t be overheard.” The sudden stop of the bus would have thrown Harry forward onto his face had Tom’s hand not caught him firmly by the shoulder. He released him again, and rose, before Harry could think to try and shake him off. “We’ve arrived. Let’s not tarry.”

Tarrying was the very last thing on his mind and the raven was out of the bus before the elder, far more poised brunet. No sooner had Tom set foot on the sidewalk did the Knightbus vanish with another raucous crack not all that dissimilar to a disappearating house elf. If said disappearing elf were put under a sonarus charm.

“Keres.” Harry turned confused eyes on the elder wizard. “Keres Peverell is what you will publicly refer to me as from now on. A distant cousin of yours.”

The unvoiced ‘am I understood’ hung heavy in the air until Harry nodded and scuffed his trainer against the ground. He’d never been in the presence of the Dark Lord, any version of him, without some effort being made on his life and in the absence of that expected aggression he had no idea what to do with himself.

“Come along.” Satisfied for the time being, Tom swept him ahead of him and into the front door of _the Leaky Cauldron_ and led him to a table before anyone could make an effort to stop them or direct them elsewhere. Verbally, though again without his wand and likely for Harry’s benefit, Tom cast a silencing charm over the table and then turned his gaze on him again. “I’ll advise you to be careful what you order; something too heavy will make you ill if, as I suspect, you haven’t made a habit of eating like you should. Even at Hogwarts.” That sounded like speaking from experience rather than a mere observation or something meant to scold. As if sensing his train of thought, the other man cocked his head like a curious raven and said “they rationed, during the Great War. Orphanages got very little. And the matrons only fed the ‘devil child’ when they had to.”

If there was one thing Harry did know about Voldemort it was that he favored twisting the truth over outright lies. But why be so open, and why to him? Why do any of this? What could he possibly want? What could he be playing at or seeking to gain by displaying what he must certainly view as weakness. What was gained from rolling over and exposing his belly to his enemy, even young as he was, when he’d thrice defeated him before? Why show him proof that he, beneath the persona and the power and the posturing, he was human. That he, too, had been a child once. An orphan, once. Unwanted, once.

Like him.

“We’ll speak more once you’ve ordered.”

Well, Harry supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised that the brunet was incapable of allowing something to leave his mouth which didn’t sound like an order. Even the younger version of him had seemed used to the obedience of those around him. Assured of his superiority. Typical Slytherin.

And Tom was Slytherin as they came, with the blood of serpents in his veins. And snakes, even young and dumb snakes like his own yearnates, never made a move without a plan. 

_What_ did Tom want?

His line of thought was derailed when the bartender shuffled over to take their orders. Harry ultimately deciding it best to take Tom’s advice, ended up ordering the house soup while the young Dark Lord settled himself for a fire whiskey, straight. He nursed the cup for a while, watching him eat as he took small sips. Seemingly savoring the burn against his tongue. When he spoke again, Harry almost inhaled his spoon.

“When we arrive at Gringotts I intend to replace both Dumbledore and those wretched muggles as your sole guardian. Via blood adoption, if need be.” 

“ _What?”_

Unfazed by his outburst, the older wizard calmly took another drink. “I don’t believe I stuttered but if it would suit you I repeat myself I will.”

“What do you mean you want to become my guardian? You’re the Dark Lord. You want to kill me!”

“I am the Dark Lord, though I’ve found myself rather displaced on a temporal level at the moment. A displacement which I fear is a permanent one.” He didn’t sound regretful of that much at all. “I’ve been...contracted by not one but two Eternals to look after you, so here I am.” The blank look that Harry treated him to wasn’t unexpected, judging by his reaction. “Do you know what a soul bond is?”

“Should I?”

“They’re exceedingly rare. Not the sort of thing liable to be taught at Hogwarts but I’d had some small hope I might not have to explain everything.” There was a mild sneer to his tone, now, and for just a moment Harry felt they might have found their way back onto familiar ground. “It’s a bond between two individuals which renders each a broken portion of a whole. Only complete when they’re together, though that capacity doesn’t _have_ to be romantic.” Something about the way he stressed the word made him wonder how true that really was. “Equals. Opposites. Light and dark, in balance only when together.”

“Soul mates?” He’d never thought in a million years he’d say such a thing in the context of Voldemort, past version or not. This was the man who’d killed his parents-who he’d never known and seemed doomed to live in the shadows of regardless and maybe had a bit of unrealized resentment for over that much-for Merlin’s sake. Surely he should at least feel _ill_ at the concept. Yet all he felt was confused and curious and _safe_ despite being within arms reach of what was supposed to be his mortal enemy. 

His lip peeled up over his teeth, the same way it had down in the chamber when he’d sneered at him over Dumbledore’s weakness and his own impending death. “So muggle and pedestrian a term. But yes. Fate bound. And you are mine. My elder self was already half mad from measures aimed at immortality and went the rest of the way when the bond lashed out at him for his aggression.”

So it was the soul bond between them which Voldemort had spurned that had protected him, not his mothers sacrifice like everyone had thought. Which meant the blood wards which Dumbledore touted as his only defense and the reason he had to stay at the Dursleys, the reason he’d been left there in the first place, were useless. His suffering, the loss of his childhood, had been for nothing.

Harry’s fists curled in his lap. “Which was the other.” He forced the words through gritted teeth. “You said there were two.”

“The other was the only thing I ever truly feared, despite what Dumbledore likes to think. Death.”

“Why would Death want anything to do with helping me?” Surely any entity which represented death, be it the stereotypical reaper or something else entirely, would feel cheated by his repeated failure to _actually die_.

Another drink of whiskey, though near-black eyes measuring him over the top of the rim. A dull thud as the heavy glass was set down. “I can’t tell you, Harry.” He said, softly, those inky eyes pulling him down into their depths. A weightless sort of feeling which kept the full force of his indignation at bay. Tom’s voice half distant as he echoed the diary. “But I can show you.”

With a sickening forward lurch not all that unlike the sudden stopping and starting of the Knight Bus Harry was sucked forward into that lightless abyss. Feet landing with a creak and a thud against a dusty wooden floor. It only took one look at the case containing the opal necklace, and the sign warning of the curse that it bore, to know exactly where he was.

_Borgin and Burke’s._

Another set of footsteps from off to his right drew his attention to Tom as the young Dark Lord crossed the room, looking overworked and tired and _normal_ as he reached for the door and stepped out into the rain. Harry hurried after him before he could close and lock the door behind him and trailed the brunet down the naked street of Knockturn Alley until they reached a run down looking flat. Harry barely had the time to stop before he walked right into Tom’s back, the older wizard having frozen just past the threshold without bothering to lock the door behind him. 

Harry didn’t see anything wrong about the-admittedly pitch black-room but Tom had picked up on something and it had frozen him where he stood for the span of three breaths before he moved. A vicious flick of his wand throwing light across the room to reveal...nothing.

A drawer of the desk, pushed against the opposite wall, hung open.

“No!” He was across the room in moments, Harry just behind, and staring down into the void of empty space inside. “No. _No!_ This isn’t possible.”

Something moved in his peripheral vision, laughter-thin and reedy, like cold wind over an open grave-sounding as he turned. Tom, beside him, spinning. Harry watched the Dark Lord’s face turn whiter than a sheet, but doubted he really looked much better. Even knowing this was only a memory-much like the vision the diary had given him, he’d be neither seen nor heard-he still felt his blood run cold. 

Death looked nothing like what Harry had expected: there was no Snape-like cloak. No scythe. No wings. A tall broad man with a wild beard, skin a translucent layer stretched over the bones beneath. He was wrapped in cloth woven from the starless sky of the first night and a fused crown of human bone sat atop his head. In one hand he held a pomegranate, in the other a bloodied, golden scale and he sat astride a terrible hound with blazing eyes and a shaggy coat as black as thrice burned embers. 

“Flight from Death. Is that truly what you wish to call yourself when your ‘flight’ barely missed 25 years; such a span of time is hardly impressive.” The Eternal’s gaze was pitiless and held the biting chill of winter without end. The dog stared Tom down, baleful and alert. Then Death set the pomegranate down across its lap and reached into the folds of its clothing. Pulling out the diary. “Looking for this?”

Fear overcoming all sight of reason, Tom lunged. A flick of Death’s wrist-a lazy motion, made almost without thought- was enough to catch hold of him; restrain his limbs and suspend him in the air, forcing his wand from his hands as his spine bowed.. 

“Now now. Let’s behave ourselves, child of magic. It would seem that you’ve been meddling with things you shouldn’t. Have been trying to cheat me. And I _do not_ like cheaters.” The dog beneath him snarled. Pinkish drool dripping from it’s swollen gums. “But it would seem that Fate does favor ‘Lord Voldemort’ enough to bind you to my master. No doubt in an effort to protect you from me. I cannot take your soul, but that does not mean I cannot make you serve.” Unyielding fingers dug into the leather cover. Bone sheering into paper. Black ink-blood erupting from the wounds in the object as the suspended wizard let out a howl of pain unlike anything he’d ever heard before. Writhing like a dying snake in his bonds, eyes forced shut as his expression shifted into a rictus of pain.

“You went so far as to create a Horcrux, Tom.” Death regarded the suspended wizard with dispassion, threads of something silvery and glowing clinging to his hand like tendrils of smoke. Peeling free of the destroyed diary as it was dropped onto the floor with a thud. “You planned to make more, didn’t you? Surely you knew that the pain of splitting your soul would not lessen with exposure.” Tom raised his head, defiant in spite of his clear terror and the way that tremors wracked his frame. “Surely, you’d be able to withstand that pain. Surely, the ‘terrible’ Lord Voldemort, ‘greatest sorcerer alive’, isn’t so easily bowed.”

The entity gave Tom no chance to respond. Driving the hand which held the clinging tendrils forward into his chest. There was none of the blood which Harry expected. None of the sounds of splitting flesh or broken bone. The brunet made a choking noise which sounded far from natural, his body jerking violently before the unseen bonds released him and he crumpled to the floor. Unable to get up. Curling in on himself, ever so slightly, with what looked like a Herculean effort as he heaved for scraps of breath.

“Your soul is whole again. You are mortal again. Perhaps I should leave you this way. Let you live up to your self-granted title and flee again, like a coward. Watch you run until time leaves you with no choice but to wait for me to strike.” A whimper, pitiful and wretched. “Or we can strike a deal. And then you won’t need to flee from me to keep your so coveted immortality. But there is always a price.”

The expression on Tom’s face, beneath the film of pain, made it plain that what he’d been offered was no choice. Accept a new avenue toward what he’d searched for, or face his greatest fear. Reluctance dripping from every curve of his crumpled form, hair a mess of dust and wild curls and cheek dragging on the splintered floor, he nodded. Flinching when juice the color of blood flecked his cheek. A glittering ruby seed pressed to his lips.

“Eat.”

Harry caught himself against the table, a spell of dizziness sweeping over him. Tom, still perched regally in his chair, observed him over his now empty cup. Pale lips thinned into a harsh line which reminded him vaguely of Petunia. For a moment, he thought he could still see the stain of juice against his skin; scarlet and gleaming.

“Revealing myself during such a moment of weakness is...not preferable. Of course, no mortal man, no matter how powerful, could ever hope to stand against a force like Death itself. Even the other Eternals are outmatched, or so the old tales say.” Glass dragged against the table top. Harry flinched, his green gaze snapping to the offending object. “And it’s important that you trust me.”

Trust him? 

Trust _Voldemort?_

Who was taking him away from the Dursleys. Who engaged with him like he was an adult, like he was smart enough to be told things and understand their significance. Who was apparently, not only his arch nemesis and the Dark Lord but his soul mate. Who hadn’t killed him yet.

Probably wasn’t going to, at this point.

Snape had always made a habit of calling him an idiot. Maybe he was right.

Merlin, he was actually going through with letting Tom Marvolo Riddle, Dark Lord Voldemort, ‘call me Keres Peverell in public’ become his _legal guardian._

Probably wouldn’t be worse than the Dursleys.

“What was the price.” He shifted in discomfort when those lightless blue eyes fell on him again. “The price that Death mentioned.”

Tom was silent for a moment. “You have a connection to Death which has yet been realized, but it will be in the future. Because of that much, he wants it seen to that the fall out of the bond being severed doesn’t drag you down with my current counterpart.” He said. “As I said, before: only in balance together. If one is on the other side of the veil then the other will soon follow. And if they can’t they’ll shatter apart. A fate worse, some say, than death.”

“Would you disagree?” Harry prodded at the remainder of his soup, having lost his appetite.

“I’m free of death now, Harrison. I’ve no need to concern myself with such things.”

“It’s ok if it makes you squeamish, Tom.” Well, no better time than now to impulsively test whether or not he’d live through pushing the young Dark Lord’s buttons.

One of the small muscles in his face twitched, but a beatific smile spread across his lips instead of the sneer he expected. “Aversion to the concept of ‘the end’ is natural.”

The sense of self preservation which must have originated from his Slytherin side, the one which had almost led the Sorting Hat to dump him in Snake House, was enough to dissuade him from saying ‘sure it is’ out loud. 

“What’s a Horcrux?”

“The darkest art imaginable. Black Magic. Soul Magic.” The brunet steepled his fingers and rested his chin lightly atop them. Watching him with what almost looked like mirth, though Harry got the distinct impression it had more to do with the fact he’d even asked such a question at all than the contents of their conversation, dancing in his eyes. “Another Dark Lord long before my time, Herpo the Foul, was the only other wizard to ever successfully make one. I intended to make six.”

“Why six?”

“Because six would lead to seven pieces. And seven is the most powerful magical number, though it is closely rivaled-and sometimes superseded, in specific arts-by three. Seven is the age by which a child’s magic will manifest itself. A Wixen comes of age at 17. Did you ever notice that Hogwarts has seven floors. Seven core classes. That children attend for seven years. Power can be found in many places, should one have the mind and take the time to find it.”

“...Seven is my Quidditch number.”

Tom’s smile was indulgent. “Lucky.” He said. “Are you good at Quidditch?”

“I’m the youngest seeker in a generation.”

“Do you enjoy it?”

Remembering the sensation of the wind through his hair, whipping at his face as he dove, Harry smiled. “It’s brilliant.”

“I’ll have to come and see you play some time. Once you’ve returned to school.”

“Did you play? While you were still attending Hogwarts?”’

“For a few years.” He said. “Chaser. Aggressive. Always in the thick of it. But the broom was never enough. So I quit my fifth year and learned to fly without one.”

“Magic can do that?” this had to be the strangest conversation with Voldemort, with anyone, that he’d ever had. This had to be the strangest _day_ he’d ever had.

“Magic is bound by what you can envision, not by incantations or wand motions or laws. Such are the beliefs of narrow minded fools who will never know true power.” Tom said. “Not like you and I.”

“Will you teach me?” Had he really just asked _the Dark Lord_ to teach him something?

“When you’re older, Harry, and your core can handle the strain, yes. I’ll teach you.”

“Brilliant.” How had he gotten here, having lunch with Voldemort. Grinning like a loon over the concept of learning anything he had to teach him.

“Are you finished, Harrison, or would you like to eat more?”

He’d almost forgotten about the soup. “I’m done.”

Those cutting beryl eyes looked him over but, though Tom seemed unsatisfied by the amount he’d eaten, he nodded and rose from the table where they’d been sitting. Flicking a wrist to casual the silencing charm around them. “Let’s head to Gringotts, then. From there, we’ll pick up a few things you’ll need.”

“Tom.” He couldn’t mimic the grace of the older man so he didn’t try. Happy he’d managed to avoid tripping himself on the leg of the table. The young Dark Lord turned back to him and, for a brief moment, surprise flickered across his features before he reached out to retrieve his wand. Those long, graceful fingers lightly brushed the back of his hand, a spark of comfort blooming where there would have once been pain.

“Trust me?”

Not quite. “I know you don’t need this to hurt me.”

“Indeed. It was merely a gesture. As is returning it.” With an almost cautious err about him, as if unsure Harry would allow it, Tom directed him forwards with a light touch to his back. Out into the courtyard where he tapped out the correct pattern-after checking Harry knew, in a manner which was meant to educate and not to condescend, which again came as a shock-and guided him through the narrow streets of the brilliantly colored alley. The looming marble form of Gringotts rising up above the skyline.  
Tom extended a gesture which Harry had never seen before to the nearest goblin who, after a moment of visible shock, returned it and then rushed off deeper into the bank. Rather than direct him towards one of the lines, he was led over to a pillar to wait.

“What was that?”

“A gesture of respect, known only to the friends of the ‘Goblin Nation’.”

Voldemort was _friends_ with the Goblin Nation?

Tom raised a delicate eyebrow. “I turned to dark creatures before the Wixen of the British Isles. I knew that I’d need numbers to win the war.”

“I thought the goblins were neutral.”

“It still pays to be friends with the financial arm of the Wizarding World.”

Well...he couldn’t really argue with the wisdom of that much. “But aren’t you into blood purity?”

His other eyebrow had risen, now, and both had disappeared into his hairline. “ _Blood_ supremacy is nonsense which leads to inbreeding, which in turn leads to throttling our powers and ultimately losing them all together. Where did you think Squibs came from?” Harry had been on the receiving end of lectures before, both from various teachers and Hermione. All of them had held some degree of put upon, usually unintentional, condescension towards his need to ask. With Tom, no matter how obvious the fact in question was or wasn’t, he’d yet to be treated as if he should have already known or been able to figure it out for himself. The more time he spent in the other wizard’s presence the more comfortable he felt around him and the more convinced he became that he’d taken very _very_ ill. “It was _magical_ purity that I believe in. I don’t hate Muggleborns because they have Muggle blood, Harry. I’m a Halfblood myself. Like you. And capability to flawlessly perform such mental gymnastics flawlessly aside such a precedent would be dangerous for me and my power. After all, the flame of revolution if not well handled, tend to consume the revolutionary as well and I’ve no desire to end up Robespierred. No. I hate Muggleborns because of what they do to our culture with their ignorance and prejudice, largely stemming from the religions they came from which decry magic as works of evil and are responsible for the statute of secrecy in the first place. So many of our traditions had already been lost by the time I arrived on Hogwarts’ doorstep. I can’t imagine how bad it’s gotten now.”

Culture? The wizarding world had its own...no, that was a stupid _stupid_ question! Of course it did! So why, even having been raised by the Dursleys cut off from everything magical, did he find himself unable to name a single one aside from Quidditch. Why weren’t they even mentioned in the curriculum of Hogwarts? Why were the only holidays they ever celebrated in the castle Muggle ones?

“I didn’t know there were Wizarding holidays.” Hermione probably did, if only because she read every book she could get her hands on. That line of thought was derailed by the expression of bald, abject horror on the brunet’s face; as honest an emotion as the pain had been. “Morgana.” It was hard to tell over the ambience of the bank, but Harry thought he heard the word crack like the shell of a dropped egg. “If something isn’t done soon we’re going to lose our world, Harry. It might already be too late.”

There was a gravity there, to those words, that made his heart lurch. But another goblin arrived before he could give voice to anything and they were both swept down another hallway into another room appointed richly with gold and precious gemstones Harry could never hope to name. The goblin behind the desk looked up as soon as the door swung closed.

“Naturally, Harry Potter would be in the company of the temporal oddity.”

Tom merely seemed amused. “Greetings Ironfang,” name courtesy of the plaque on the top of the desk, “may you prosper as your enemies drown in your own blood.”

“Voldemort,” the goblin’s voice was tart, “spurned the favor of the Goblin Nation some time ago.”

“Well, my vicious friend, you’ll find I’m from before that time and thusly of good standing as according to the court’s grace. Nonetheless,though at a later time whilst without my accompaniment, I would like to make proper restitution; a penance can be found, in the meanwhile, in the Peverell vault.”

“The Peverell vault,” the goblin drawled, “is as dry as that of the Gaunt’s.”

“I should never wish to suggest your records incorrect, vicious friend, but please. Check again.”

The goblin bared his pointed teeth but snapped his clawed fingers and snatched the summoned scroll from the air. Unfurling it and glancing down only to freeze, then look up at Tom with narrowed eyes. “What have you done, Mr. Riddle?”

“Panta gemizontas, ola afta pou lampyrizoun sta vathytera meri tis gis tha einai dika sas. Oloi oi tisavrai ton nekron emeinan stis aktes tou Styx. Tou Acheronta. Pliromi gia to ploio. I gennaiodoria tou Adi kai oi anoteroi ypiretes tou.” Not Parseltongue. Not English. Likely not Latin either, though Harry only had the vaguest sense of the language. “And the bounty of Hades is quite a great deal more than even the greediest goblin, or an Unseelie Queen, could want.”

“A Deathbourne.” Ironfang lowered the parchment back to the desk and vanished it. “Gringotts has no desire to bring about the ire of an Eternal. Certainly not one as powerful as Death. Let us do business, Mr. Riddle. Mr. Potter.”

“Happily.” Tom said. “I would like legal guardianship within the muggle world removed from the heathens he’s been thrown to, and transferred to me. Tom Marvolo Riddle. I’d like legal guardianship within the magical world removed from that barmy codger Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore and transferred to me. Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Ironfang ticked down the request on another sheaf of parchment he’d summoned. 

“I’d like to blood adopt him as well, so that I can ironclad my legal standing in the event of any efforts to challenge the matter.”

Ticked down.

“I’d like to claim any of my still existent Lordship rings, as well as for Harry James Potter to claim any of the Heirship rings he’s eligible for.”

Ticked down.

“I also want a full health scan done on him, head to toe, physical and magical. I have reason to believe he’s been mistreated for his entire life, or near about, and want to know what all damage he’s suffered which needs to be corrected.”

Ticked down.

“Take any payment for such services directly from the vault of Peverell. I trust Gringotts will be thorough.”

“Of course, Mr. Riddle.”

“I also require documentation proving the existence and background of one Keres Alexos Gaunt-Peverell drawn up to suit my purposes.”

“Easily done, though it may take a few days. We’ll contact you when the documents are ready for you to return to the wizarding world and take your seats on the Wizengamot.”

“Beautiful, Ironfang.” Tom sounded positively thrilled. “In addition, I want a full audit done on the Potter vaults, as well as any others that Harry has inherited access to. Any untoward or unwanted, or even no longer necessary, payments are to be stopped. All artifacts removed from them will be returned immediately. I also want all investments cataloged so that they can be pruned through at a later date.”

“Anything else you’d like done?”

“If Harry James Potter has received any mail that was not already given to him is to be sent to Slytherin manor so that he can begin to go through what is rightfully his.” Tom said. “I’d also like to withdraw 1000 galleons. That will conclude today’s business needs.”

“Marvelous, Mr. Riddle.” The goblin rose from his chair, though his height-behind the desk-in no way changed. “I’ll head down, if you’ll excuse me, to retrieve what you’ve asked of us. Would you like tea in the meanwhile?”

Tom hummed, then glanced down at Harry and said “some biscuits too, I think.”

“And biscuits.” Parchment in hand, the goblin shuffled from the room. A silver tray popped into being a moment later, supporting a steaming teapot two china cups and a tin of ginger newts.

“Come, Slishe.” Parseltongue, too quick for him to catch what it meant. Tom lifted the tray and transported it from the desk to the nearby coffee table before taking up his seat on one of the red cushions. Red, like Gryffindor’s banner. Like the seeds of a pomegranate, forced between the bitten shaking lips of a terrified man tortured by a creature worse than even the most feared Dark Wizard of all time. The comment which had bubbled up onto his tongue, of the Heir of Slytherin looking so at home among a field of scarlet, died before he could give it voice.

“What did you say?” he said instead.

Tom paused midway through preparing a cup of tea: with more cream and sugar, Harry couldn’t help but notice, then he’d have expected to be to the taste of a Dark Lord. “I thought you could speak.”

“I...haven’t had a lot of practice.” Harry dropped his gaze, feeling unreasonably embarrassed. “Could you say it again? A little slower?”

He expected Tom to mock him. Call him stupid for daring to think that he, a Gryffindor, could be worthy of the identifying gift of Slytherin’s blood. “Little one.” The older wizard’s voice was quiet. “You can ashe-gasa...understand me?” Mutely, Harry nodded. “Harrison, would you like to learn? To know?”

Did he want to be able to speak the snake language on a whim, like Tom could? It had caused him so much grief just that past year, when everyone had believed him responsible for the basilisk’s attacks. But it would also tie him more closely to Tom. _This_ Tom, who regarded him with something protective and fierce and unplaceable. Not the snarling one who’d come from the pages of the diary Horcrux or the shade attached to the back of Quirrell's head; a language just for them that no one else could understand. A mark that made them different. Special.

One he took by choice.

“Yes.”

The corners of his lips twitched upwards into the ghost of a pleased smile. “We’ll speak in Parseltongue exclusively until you’ve grown fluent, and are capable of recognizing both when others speak it and when you do.” He said. “Now, come and have tea. And at least a few biscuits. You’re horrifically thin, and you didn’t eat even half of your soup.”

Harry accepted the milk and sugar laden tea and, if only to placate the man, picked up a pair of ginger newts from the open tin the young Dark Lord pushed toward him. Taking a bite under his watchful eye and startling slightly when he took a drink. “Peppermint?”

“The goblins still remember my brew.” That smirk again, revealing only canines around the rim of his cup as he took a delicate drink. “Clears the mind. And I find it tastes pleasant. Do you disagree? I’ll have the House Elves at Slytherin Manor make you your own pot, if you’d prefer. How do you usually take your tea?”

“...However it’s given to me.” Harry admitted after another moment. “I’ve never really…”

“Gotten the chance to figure out that answer.” His eyes flashed with something dangerous, but his motions remained fully controlled as he set the cup atop its saucer, and the saucer down atop the table. “There are numerous different brews back at the manor. You may pick one each morning. We’ll answer that question together. That and many more.” A pause in which the young Dark Lord examined his reflection in the depths of his cup. “A rain drop. An ocean. There’s no stronger weapon than knowledge. Especially knowledge of one’s self. Learn your secrets, innocuous or otherwise. And learn to guard them.”

“Are you certain you’re not the Hair of Ravenclaw, Tom?”

“Ravenclaw and Slytherin are both dark oriented houses focused on the mind, Harry. The difference is that while the eagle only seeks to know the serpent seeks to use.”

Ironfang returned to the room just as Harry finished off his first newt, levitating a handful of boxes in varying sizes as he made his way to the desk.

“Let us begin with the Blood Adoption.” The Goblin picked up the longest box among them, thin and flat, and lifted the lid. Tom’s thin fingers wrapping around the handle of the ruby-studded stiletto and raising it from the cushion.

“Blood Magic: ancient, binding and dark. Though it remains legal, barely so, in circumstances like these.” He examined the blade; keen and glinting silver and perfectly straight. “Goblin steel. A privilege. Your hand, Harry.”

Eyeing the blade which the older wizard held with far too much comfort, Harry reluctantly held out his hand for Tom to take. Turning it palm up.

“I won’t lie and claim this won’t be painful, but it won’t take long. And the wound will be gone with a single spell. Though it will likely leave behind a scar.” He said. “A quick cut. An exchange of blood. A vow. And then you’ll be free of all of them to forge whatever path you’d prefer to walk.”

Free.

Harry had never been free in his life.

The blade bit cold against his palm, blood welling dark against his skin and painting the silver a vivid crimson. Tom slitting his own palm without so much as flinching. His grip firm around his hand. Pain radiated up his arm from where their wounds met.

“I, Tom Marvolo Riddle, otherwise known as Keres Alexos Gaunt-Peverell or Lord Voldemort, hereby take Harry James Potter as a part of my family. I name him my heir by rite to fortune, to name, and to estate and bestow upon him all protections of my line and station. Blood of my blood. Soul as to mine. To strike you is to strike me and shall be answered in kind: my binding oath.” Those dark eyes devoured him. “Do you accept?”

“I...yes. Yes, I accept.” He had no idea what the proper words were. Hoped that that was good enough.

It seemed to be, because Tom released his hold and-with an arcane gesture and a voice of reverence-said “so mote it be.”

It felt like lightning shot through his body, crackling down into his toes and then back up again before settling in his core. A sense of rightness falling over him like a blanket of fresh snow. Gently, Tom unfurled the little raven’s fingers further and traced the point of his wand in a complicated pattern over the gash on his palm. Seeing to his own only once certain Harry’s had fully closed.

“Now that the matter of Mr. Potter’s legal custody has been taken care of, let us move on to the health scan.” The goblin said. “The remaining blood from the cut that he’s already made should be enough.” A wave of one of Ironfang’s hands siphoned the blood away before either wizard could react. The spread of it across parchment like ink as the dark red formed lettering across the crackled surface. Ironfang snatched it from the air once the writing had finished. It only took a moment for the goblin’s ears to lay back. “Mr. Potter has never seen a healer in his life, beyond his first birthday, of either the Muggle of Magical variety.” Tom’s hand constricted, ever so slightly, on his shoulder. “The Mediwitch at Hogwarts has seen him but only to treat various injuries never to properly examine him. He’s suffered multiple broken bones, dislocations and contusions all of which failed to be given even the most basic care. He’s malnourished to an extreme degree so much so that his growth has been severely stunted and as a result his health has suffered a great deal. Most concerningly, his magical core is under constant strain merely for the effort of keeping him alive; at this rate it will not properly solidify and he’ll never reach his full potential.”

He’d always thought it was normal, at least for a Wizard like him, to have all of his bruises and broken bones and fevers and sweats done away with by his magic after a couple of days. And no one who would have known better had ever said anything about it. Before he could give voice to his worry, Tom let out a heavy sigh and said “I know of an able, Dark aligned healer who will keep our secrets. I’ll be in contact with them as soon as we’re through with our business here, and in the rest of the alley, today. I’d appreciate a copy for my own records, and a copy for theirs.”

“It will be simply done to have that arranged.” Ironfang said. “The rings next, yes?”

“Indeed, vicious friend.” Tom’s face had returned to a satisfied half-smirk, but there was something to the set of his jaw which shattered the facade of calm. “Lord first and then Heir, if I recall correctly?”

A faint sheen of what might have been amusement flickered across Ironfang’s face. “As if you, Mr. Riddle, would ever think you hadn’t.” The goblin sorted through the handful of yet unopened boxes on his desk. “You are, of course, the current Lord Slytherin, the current Lord Gaunt and the current Lord Peverell. The Gaunt Ring, as I’m sure you recall, remained in the hands of that line until it ultimately ended up with you. What your current counterpart did with it I cannot begin to say, but it was considered lost with him when he fell.”

“Regrettable. But nonetheless, there’s nothing to be done about it now. I may be able to track it down myself at a later date.” Tom said. “What of the others? It was hinted to me in the past that I could claim the other mentioned Lordships, but I never bothered officially doing so.”

Ironfang made a sound that Harry couldn’t place and picked up the first box. Opening the lid to reveal a ring with a jet black band. The massive square cut emerald in the center embossed with a familiar silver serpent, curling through the words _nos consequi._ “The Lordship ring of House Slytherin.”

Harry had the sneaking suspicion that the ring’s perfect fit on Tom’s finger had more to do with magic than chance.

The second ring’s band was one of simple gold, the rounded stone in its center so black that it reflected no light. Like the shawl that Death had wrapped around himself, in the vision Tom had shown him. “The Lordship ring of House Peverell.”

This ring Tom placed on his opposite hand.

“And now the Heir rings.” Ironfang opened the first box, revealing a thin band of light gold adorned with a rectangular ruby. The image of a stag flitting in and out of sight in its depths as it was struck by the light, alongside the phrase _nostra furorem._ “The Heir ring of House Potter.” The next ring was silver with a thick band. A smokey grey stone, unfaceted and sporting a sleeping hound over the words _toujours pur._ “The Heir ring of House Black.” The third ring was a miniature of Tom’s first, though the stone in the center was a noticeably lighter shade of green. “The Heir ring of House Slytherin.” The last ring was a black band with no stone, the etching of _nos lux in via_ almost invisible along its matte surface. “The Heir ring of House Peverell.”

Harry stared at the boxes and then looked over at Tom. “I have to wear all four of them?”

“Lordship rings are all required to be worn if their power is to be leveraged, with extenuating circumstances for those rare few who might find themselves with more rings than fingers. But Heirship rings have no such requirement. You will, however, need to keep all of them with you as you may want to display a different one for different occasions to achieve the most favorable results.” Tom said. “For now, wear the Potter ring and nothing else. It will provide sufficient day to day defenses, at least for the time being, and will be the easiest to explain were someone to question its presence. We’ll need to acquire a box to house the rest, and keep them concealed.”

“We can provide just such a box for you, Mr. Potter. For an added fee, of course.” When Tom waved him on, the goblin snapped his fingers and the other three rings disappeared. Leaving another box-small, lacquered teak embossed with the shifting images of magical creatures-in their place. Only the Potter ring remained for him to slip onto his finger. “Tap the lid three times with your wand and envision the ring that you require. When you open the box, that will be the ring you find. If anyone else opens it, the box will appear empty.”

“Thank you.” Harry picked up the little box. The new ring glittering on his finger. Red, like the banner of his House. Red, like pomegranate seeds.

“We’ve begun the audit process and will send word with any information that we uncover, Mr. Riddle.” Ironfang produced a fanged bag of silver-green leather and passed it across the desk to Tom, who slipped it into the inner pocket of the suit jacket that he wore with a word of thanks. “For the time being, our business is complete. May your coffers ever flow, Deathborne.”

“And your enemies’ run dry.” With a last exchange of nods, Tom turned to Harry and held out his hand. “Come along now, Slishe. We’ve shopping to do.”


	2. Welcome to Slytherin Manor

‘Shopping’ in Harry’s experience had always meant either being dragged along by Aunt Petunia, when she could bare to risk his public presence, for the sake of holding her purchases, all of which were meant for the hands of Vernon and Dudley, or rushing around Diagon Alley in search of that year’s round of school supplies. He’d never been out shopping for general needs. And certainly not for any potential wants. But he got the distinct impression that attempting to voice as much to Tom, leading the way down the road with sure steps and graceful strides carefully kept short enough that he wouldn’t have to strain to keep up, wouldn’t end well.

Though maybe he wouldn’t have been surprised by the revelation, what with how much their backgrounds seemed to have in common.

“We’ll make our way to _Twillfit and Tatting’s_ first. From the look of you, you’re in need of new clothing all around. And I’m willing to bet that, outside of your school robes, you don’t have any wizarding clothing at all.”

His guess was spot on so Harry didn’t bother answering the question, simply piping up with “why not _Madam Malkin’s_?”

“ _Madam Malkin’s_ is a respectable establishment for school robes and little else. Certainly not everyday or evening wear-dress robes-if you’re to be moving within Pureblood High Society.” Tom said. “A circle we _will_ be moving in; we’ll have no choice if we’re going to save our world.”

‘Pureblood high society’ made him think of the Malfoys. More specifically Lucious Malfoy and the face the slimy prat had made before Dobby launched him down the stairs. He heard the older wizard chortle softly as he wrinkled his nose. “Are you going to make me Dark, Tom?”

The thought of it filled him with a sudden sadness. An aching empty feeling, ashen tasting and almost like regret. The brunet beside him looked down as they walked, perusing his features for a while before he answered. “I’m not going to ‘make you’ anything, Little One. Just provide you with the knowledge to make an informed decision on your own, befitting to what you feel you truly are.” He ran long fingers through his chestnut hair, leaving it mussed ever so slightly. It did nothing to detract from his appearance. “I doubt you’d truly ever be ‘Dark’ anyway. Grey or Grey-Dark at most.”

There were distinctions? His confusion must have shown on his face because Tom let out another soft sigh and rested a hand on his shoulder. “There's so much you still need to learn. So much I doubt Hogwarts under Dumbledore will ever make an effort to teach you.” Now it was Tom’s turn to sound sad, though most merely walking by wouldn’t have noticed the subtle inflection in his voice. Only his extended contact with the diary left him able to pick up on the emotions threaded through the other’s voice: jewel bright specks of color, scattered throughout a warm baritone pur meant to disarm and manipulate and command. “We’ll start small. Anything you must know. Anything you want to. We’ve an eternity after all, you and I. But first, clothing.”

The young Dark Lord led him down a narrow offshoot of the Alley Harry hadn’t realized was there.

“Favorite color?”

He startled and blinked up at him, owlish. It had been red. Like the banner of his house. Like pomegranate seeds. Like the ring on his finger. Harry shuddered. “Green.”

That half-smile reemerged. Blue-black eyes dancing with pinpoints of light, like stars. “The Gryffindor Lion’s favorite color is the standard of my House?”

“Yeah. Yeah. Funny.” He grumbled, though without as much bite as he’d have liked. “What’s yours?”

“If I told you it was red?”

“I’d tell you that you’re lying.”

“Maybe I am.” The older wizard winked. Grin twisting further on his lips. “You’ll never know. Dark or pastels?”

There was no way he’d be caught dead in colors better suited for the easter candies he’d always been forced to watch Dudley shovel into his face by the fistful during the spring. “Dark!”

“Marvelous.” They emerged from the narrow pass onto the stoop of a glittering store front displaying robes and cloaks in silk and dragonhide. Embossed over the door in silver lettering was _Twillfit and Tattings._ “Now all that needs done is to size you.”

Dripping with confidence and gliding forward with an inhuman grace, he pushed open the door. Setting the bell overhead a clatter. He swept Harry ahead of him into the store itself and the sharp scent of potpourri-though what might have been in it he couldn’t hope to say-hanging in the air. A forest of shelves and racks laden with finer fabric than he’d ever imagined himself wearing rose up around them. A witch with pinched features not unlike the librarian at Hogwarts appeared, seemingly from thin air, wielding a magical measuring tape in one hand and a pale ash wood wand in the other.

“Good afternoon, Mrs.” Harry half expected Tom to sweep into a low bow and kiss the woman’s hand. He didn’t, but he did bow his head in a regal nod. Deep brown bangs falling forward into those dark eyes. “I’ve recently rescued my poor young cousin from unfit guardians and would like to have a full wardrobe made up for him, including a complete array of evening and leisure ware. Dragonhide and acromantula silk. Dark colors, and white.” He looked down at Harry in search of signs of argument but when none came he said “yes, I believe that’s all we’ll be needing today. Have it all sized to him loosely, though not enough to be noticeable; we’ll have it let out, if need be, once he’s reached a healthy weight.”

The measuring tape flew at him like an angry hornet and, after a flurry of wand flicks and measurements, he was released with a promise to have the complete wardrobe owled to him. Harry had hoped they’d be done with the clothing store at that point, but Tom merely took him by the arm and led him deeper into the mess of racks and shelving.

“I want you out of this formless mass of grey cloth that your Muggles had you buried in.” He said. “Pick something you like and I’ll transfigure it to fit you myself.”

Harry stared helplessly at the wall of glittering colors before picking one at random. Deep sapphire fabric, soft and smooth against his fingers. “What is this?”

“That looks to be unicorn hair.” Tom stepped up beside him, touched the sleeve and made an affirmative noise. “Yes. See how it shimmers golden in the right light. That’s how you best recognize the material.”

_Silver blood reflecting the faint moonlight as it filtered down through the thick canopy. A black figure crouched low over a fallen form._ “I thought unicorns were white.”

“The adults, whose mane and tail hairs are used as wand cores, are. But the foals are gold, and it’s their shed coats which are used in weaving.” Tom said. “That’s not something that you’d have learned, though, until this coming year. Are you planning to take Care of Magical Creatures?”

“Yes. I am.”

“Admittedly, Ancient Runes and Arithmancy are far more useful electives but Care of Magical Creatures was a favorite class of mine. I like animals.” Something dark passed over his features, just for a moment, and he amended “magical animals. And snakes.”

“You took...all three?” How? They had overlapping time slots.

Another hum as Tom took the blue robe down from the rack, smoothing a large pale hand down its front before holding it up to Harry’s form. “Had to get a time turner to do it. The Ministry, even back then, surrounded the things with so much paperwork it's ridiculous but it was simply enough done for me to get by that. The then Headmaster, Armando Dippet, was all but blinded by the luster of my potential. Most teachers were.” The words were almost distracted as he handed over the robe, free of its hanger. “Go and put that on, won’t you? I’ll size it once you’ve come out. And vanish those ghastly rags you’re dressed in now.”

Harry did as he was told, locating the little dressing room in the back of the store and drawing the curtain behind him. Pulling off the drift of old, stained fabric which swallowed him up and replacing it with the robe which pooled alarmingly around his feet until Tom, tutting softly and seething behind his eyes, corrected its fit with a few precise flicks of his wand.

“Finally,” the young Dark Lord stepped aside to allow Harry to catch sight of himself in a nearby mirror, “I get to see the wizard underneath all of that cloth.”

His reflection grinned at him and glanced over at Tom. “You’re good at matching colors, dear.” It said. “Near a dead ringer for his eyes. Do think he’s a bit old for you, though. At eleven.”

_“I’m twelve!”_ His voice was five octaves too high and his face was bright pink. He hadn't even noticed that the robe was the color of Tom’s eyes. That certainly hadn’t been a factor in why he’d picked it!

Tom snorted softly and led him away from the mirror’s rather flippant “right, twelve, sorry dear” and towards the desk. After exchanging a small pile of galleons, they re-emerged into the sunlight.

“You seem uncomfortable at the sight of so much gold being spent at once.” Damn him and his similar experience for letting him pick up on things that even his closest friends tended not to. Then again, maybe Ron and Hermione weren’t always terribly observant. “I was, too. Once. But we deserve only the best, as we’ll be the immortal Lords of the Empire of Magical Britain one day soon. And we need never worry about running out of funds; precious metals lie within the realm of death, after all. And the passed have heaped offerings beside the rivers for centuries. All that has ever glittered, and all that ever will, is ours. Concern yourself with more important things than gold and silver.”

“Is that what you said to Ironfang?” he asked as they walked. “About the ‘bounty of Hades’?”

“Close enough.” He said. “I don’t often get to use my grasp on Greek.” So that was what that language had been? “We’ll get you a proper trunk, next, that will be able to contain your new wardrobe and your school supplies. Then visit _The_ _Magical Menagerie_ before retrieving your things from _The Leaky Cauldron_ and flooing home.”

The floo? Not again! Harry _hated_ the floo. “I already have an owl, Tom.”

“I’m aware.” He said. “I’m not getting you an owl. I’m getting you a snake. You did say you wanted practice.”

“I won’t be allowed to have a snake at Hogwarts. Only owls, cats and toads are allowed.”

“Incorrect. Only owls, cats and toads are _recommended_. Any pet is permitted, so long as it’s not dangerous to other students and the owner has some degree of command of it.” Tom said. “Surely you know of at least one student who has something else?”

Harry almost slapped himself. Ron, his best friend, his bloody roommate, had a rat! And he’d never heard anything about any grief being given to him, or his older brother who’d owned the rat before, over it.

“This way, Harrison. If memory serves, and the place is still there, the best trunks can be found right down this way.”

Harry didn’t catch the name of the establishment they entered but it seemed, at a cursory glance, to be a wizarding furniture store. The warm air tinged with the heady, almost chemical smells of wood polish and leather. Tom engaged the nearest salesman in a rapid fire conversation, throwing around terms like ‘self-shrinking’ and ‘enlarged interior’ while Harry wandered off to examine the display of tables. It was while he was running his fingers over the painstakingly carved scales of a dragon which looked a great deal like a full-grown version of Norbert, that Tom came to retrieve him. They left the store with a handsome black and silver chest, which the young Dark Lord shrunk and slipped into his pocket.

_The Magical Menagerie_ was located on the north side of the alley, across from _Florean Fortescue’s Icecream Parlor_ ; Harry had seen the place before, briefly, but had never been inside. The door was chipped and consisted mostly of a pane of smudged glass, set into a frame of white wood. Tom pushed it open and led the way inside.

The first things that hit him were the sounds and the smell; the mingled scents and cries of a myriad of creatures all hissing and snarling and screeching and yowling at once. The second thing to hit him was the sense of claustrophobia as walls lined with cages, stacked over top of one another, closed in around them. One cage featured a pair of massive toads, each seven times the size of Trevor and as brilliantly purple as the Knightbus. A tortoise or turtle with a bejeweled shell sat, sparkling, in the windowsill. Snails a dangerous shade of orange slithered in strange formations across their container, leaving behind dizzying patterns of slime in their wake. Over the hoarse cries of a cage full of ravens, Harry heard the popping sound of a white rabbit repeatedly turning itself into a silk top hat and back. Cats of every color paced their cages, watching him pass with slitted eyes. A vampire bat dangled upside down from a stand, delicately running one wing through its needle sharp fangs. Beside a pair of black rats playing skip rope with their long bald tails sat a humming basket of custard yellow furballs.

“A poffle of puffskeins.” Wasn’t that a mouthful. Tom took Harry by the elbow and began to lead him deeper into the store. “But they’re not why we’re here. Come along.”

The terrarium where they kept the snakes they had on offer was at the very back, almost as if hidden intentionally from sight. There weren’t many inside; just a brown grass snake, a garter snake with a stripe of orange around its neck and a black snake with scales like glass.

“Ah, a Sunbeam.” Tom sounded surprised. “Fully Muggle, but not native to Europe.” Carefully removing the lid, he reached down into the terrarium to offer the black snake his hand. “ **_:May I lift you?:”_ **

The snake reared up in surprise to look at him. The other two raising their heads as well, tongues flicking out. “ **_:You speak?:”_ **

**_“:We both do.:”_ ** Tom said. **_“:May I lift you, serpent, and show my companion why your kind are named for the sun?:”_ **

**_“:Lift me?:”_ ** The snake unfurled its coils and began to drag its four foot body up Tom’s arm. “ **_:You may take me. In fact, please do. This place is not ideal.:”_ **

“ **_:I think we shall. You are the most beautiful of the three here, and I will only have the very best for him.:”_ ** Tom raised his wand towards the snake. “ **_:Lumos.:”_ ** The white glow of magic shattered against the snake’s body into the colors of the rainbow; dancing fractals of green and blue clung to its sides; red and pink and yellow spiraled along its back. Harry stared in surprise as he was offered the animal. “ **_:Brilliant, isn’t it?:”_ **

**_“:Yeah.:”_ ** A black tongue flicked against his fingers before the snake moved. Leaving Tom’s arm for his and making itself at home around his shoulders. Coils glossy and warm where they flexed against his throat. “ **_:It is.:”_ **

The woman behind the desk seemed quite surprised when she discovered that they wanted to buy a snake. Even more so when Tom declined any concept of a terrarium or carrier. After paying her, the older wizard led him back out into the open air.

“A relief to be away from that noise.” Tom watched the glittering snake stretch up from Harry’s neck towards the sun. “Always a ruckus. Any idea what you’re going to name him?”

“He doesn’t already have one?”

“You speak, Harry. You can ask him yourself.”

Harry huffed, but did as he was told. Parseltongue coming easy at the sight of a serpent. **_“:What’s your name?:”_ **

The snake’s tongue flicked out as it stared up at him. “ **_Names are a warmbloodmanthing concept. Snakes do not have them of our own accord. We do not need them.:”_ ** It said. **_“:But I will take whatever warmbloodmanthing name my speaker would want to give me.:”_ **

Harry blinked, then looked at Tom. “Do you have a snake?”

“Naturally.”

“What did you name it?”

“I named her for the Moirai: Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos.”

“You named your snake three different things?”

“It will make sense once you’ve met.” Tom assured him. “Concern yourself with naming him.”

“I’m bloody terrible at names, Tom.”

“You named your owl, didn’t you?”

“Only because I had a book in front of me and found a name I liked.” 

For a moment the older wizard appeared to be restraining the urge to laugh. “Well, how about Helios. After the ancient Greek God of the Sun.”

Fitting enough for a ‘Sunbeam snake’. “ **_:Helios it is, then.:”_ **

“ **_:I am Helios now?:”_ ** The serpent hissed, blunted head wavering back and forth. Then he announced “ **_:I accept your warmbloodmanthing name, speaker. What is your warmbloodmanthing name?:”_ **

**_“:Harry.:”_ ** He told it, then gestured to his companion. “ **_:And that’s Tom.:”_ **

**_“:Speaker Harry and speaker Tom.:”_ ** Helios settled his head against the raven’s shoulder. “ **_:Yes, I think I already like this better than the clearboxnest.:”_ **

Tom watched their interaction with something satisfied in the depths of his eyes. Smirking, ever so slightly, when he noticed Harry looking. “Are you ready to go back to _The Leaky Cauldron_ , Little One, or would you like to get ice cream while we’re here?”

‘Ice cream with the Dark Lord’ was where Harry Potter drew the line of ‘too weird’. “No, thank you. Let’s just go back.”

He hadn’t thought about it before now, too distracted by the general oddity and potential danger of having lunch with Tom, but he didn’t remember the older wizard having the occasion to rent a room while they’d been there.

“When did you rent this?”

“A few months ago. When I first arrived here, in this time.” Tom stepped through the door and held it open for Harry. He’d spoken earlier like he hadn’t rented one yet, outside the station. Or maybe Harry had just misheard. Harry didn’t think he had but was saved from contemplating the matter too deeply when Hedwig landed on his shoulder with a low hoot, ignoring Helios’ hiss.

“Hello, girl.”

The floorboards creaked under Tom’s feet as he stepped towards him, holding out his still shrunken trunk. “We’ll resize it once we’re back at the manor. Why don’t you send your owl off; I doubt she’d be happy going through the floo.”

Harry didn’t blame Hedwig in the slightest. Watching his owl examine Tom curiously with her big amber eyes. “Yeah.” He stepped up to the open window. “That’s probably a good idea. Though I’m not certain where to tell her to go.”

“Slytherin manor, the Isle of Man.” Hedwig hooted, spread her wings and fluttered off through the open window. “Come along, Harrison.”

The young Dark Lord led him down the stairs and over to the fire place, where he stopped and turned. “Ever used the floo before?”

He could already feel his cheeks turning pink. “I ended up at _Borgin and Burke’s_ instead of here.”

Aside from the faintest upward tilt of his brow, Tom didn’t show any hints of amusement. “Well, take a deep breath before you step into the hearth. Just make certain it’s not so deep that you’re unable to hold it.” He lifted down a recognizable pot of emerald powder. “In you go.”

Taking a pinch with all the reluctance in the world, Harry took a deep breath and stepped into the fireplace. Heard the crunch of cold embers underneath his feet. He shouted “Slytherin manor” with all the clarity he could and dropped the powder at his feet. Swept away by a while of heat and magic a moment later. His glasses slid down his nose. His robes tangled around his legs. His feet tripped up. The next thing he knew he was face down on a plush rug and Helios was hissing in concern.

Tom swept from the flames without even a hair out of place a moment later and was immediately beside him. Guiding him upright and looking him over. “Hurt?”

Harry shook his head. “Just dizzy.” He pushed his glasses back. “Happens every time.”

“And you land like that every time?”

Another embarrassed nod. 

“Has that plonker Caractus put out rugs since I worked for him or is it still just a wooden floor?”

“Wood.”

Tom rose with an annoyed hiss and pulled Harry with him. “Nevermind that, then.” He said. “Welcome, Harry, to Slytherin manor; your new home. A lost, formerly, property of my family which I only rediscovered with the help of records hidden within the chamber itself. I spent a number of months restoring it, both during and after school, and acquiring the necessary house elves to keep it staffed. Speaking of elves, Kipsy!”

With a familiar pop a female house elf appeared in front of them, clad in a little green servant’s dress bearing the Slytherin crest on its front. Her tennis ball eyes grew huge at the sight of Tom, and filled with tears. “The Master has returned!”

“And I am myself again.” As Harry looked on in surprise at the stark difference from the way that the Malfoy Lord had treated Dobby, he crouched down to the little elf’s eye level. “Thank you for all your many years of loyal service. Both while I was present, while I was mad and while I was gone. Spread my thanks to the others as well. This,” he motioned to the raven, “is Harry Potter. My charge. And my soulbound. He’s come to live here, while he’s attending Hogwarts; treat him as you would me.”

“Of course, Master. Kipsy will let the others know what Master has said; about his thanks and the Young Master.” She vanished again with another pop.

“The Malfoys don’t treat their house elves like that.” He didn’t know what else to say.

“No.” Tom rose to his full height. “Most don’t. But it’s important to keep in mind who it is that makes our food. And who it is that could easily poison it out of spite.”

Well, fair enough.

“You’ll have free reign of the manor and surrounding grounds while you are here, unless specified otherwise. I’ll show you to your room and ensure that you’re comfortable and settled in then I’ll pay a visit to a healer to contract their services for you. I may not return in time for dinner, but we will have breakfast together.” Tom headed off down a nearby hallway. Harry brushed ashes off his new robe and hurried after. Passing ancient portraits who watched them both pass with calculating interest. Around a corner. Passed a window revealing a sweep of green lawn, a span of dark forest and the sharp cut of a coast, and finally stopping at a dark wooden door. Harry’s fingers curled around the handle when Tom motioned for him to proceed and he pushed it open. The room beyond was easily three times the size of Dudley’s spare bedroom, dressed in warm neutral colors and furnished in polished cherry wood. “I wasn’t certain of your preference; the color can be changed, if you desire.”

It took Harry a moment to process the offer before he shook his head. “No.” He said. “No, this is brilliant!”

“Brilliant and yours. Not a hand me down from someone else. Not a broom closet, crawl space or cupboard. A proper space for a wizard, to do with as you’d like.” Tom indicated a small hole just to the left of the door. “Every room in the manor has them, for ease of travel by the serpents. Helios can use them to come and go as he pleases. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos will undoubtedly come to investigate soon. Don’t be frightened. They know not to harm you.”

Unless Tom’s three-named snake was an incredibly small basilisk, Harry doubted he’d be frightened. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” He turned to exit the room. “If not tonight, I will see you in the morning.”

The door shut behind the older wizard with a quiet click, leaving Harry alone with Helios and his two enlarged trunks.

“ **_:This is a much better nest.:”_ ** Helios sounded approving. “ **_:The softbox looks warm. Could you let me down to sleep, speaker?:”_ **

**_“:Of course.:”_ ** Lifting the snake from his shoulders, Harry carefully placed him on top of the beige duvet and crossed the room to open the window for Hedwig when she arrived. With that done, he popped open the lid of his trunk and reached inside.Pulling out first his invisibility cloak, which he slid into one of the drawers of his wardrobe, and then the scrapbook full of pictures of his parents Hagrid had given him, which found a home beside his wand on the bedside table. Well aware Tom likely had plans to incinerate his muggle clothing the moment he was presented with the shadow of an opportunity he left them in his trunk and busied himself with transporting his school books from his first and second year-aside from Lockhart’s, which he’d probably ask Tom to burn as well-over to the handsome bookshelf beside the window until approaching voices reached his ears.

“ **_:-little hatchling!:”_ **

**_“:You don’t even know if he speaks. Stop shouting!:”_ **

**_“:Of course he speaks! Master said-.:”_ **

**_“:Would both of you stop shouting? I can’t even hear myself think!:”_ **

**_“:You can never ‘hear yourself think’, Atropos. Because you don’t think!:”_ **

**_“:Ach! What did you bite me for?:”_ **

**_“:You were in the way, Lachesis!:”_ **

**_“:She can’t exactly move, you idiot! We’re all attached to the same body!:”_ **

Harry turned to stare at the hole in time to see a snake with three heads, its orange body banded black and seven feet long from nose to tail, slither into sight. Its right and left heads locked in a vicious argument while the middle one just looked exasperated.

“ **_:Don’t call me an idiot, Clotho! Neither one of you are able to come up with anything that isn’t riddled with holes! If not for me, we wouldn’t get anything done!:”_ **

**_“:Why you-!:”_ **

**_“:Stop arguing in front of the hatchling! He’s staring!:”_ **

Both of the side heads joined the middle one in looking him over, its long body rearing up to get a better look. Three tongues flicked out in tandem.

“ **_:Er...hello?:”_ ** He didn’t know quite what to make of the creature. “ **_:Would it be alright for me to ask what you are? You have three heads, so you can’t possibly be a normal snake.:”_ **

**_“:My dear boy,:”_ ** said the left head, Clotho, “ **_:Of course we’re not a ‘normal snake’. Haven’t you ever heard of a Runespoor?:”_ **

Should he have? **_“:Um, I haven’t gotten to take Care of Magical Creatures yet, so I’m afraid not.:”_ **

“ **_:Ah, learning.:”_ ** The middle head’s tongue curled over its nose. “ **_:He’s still young and unshed. What a time it must be.:”_ **

**_“:Shut up, Lachesis!:”_ ** The right head snapped.

“ **_:Atropos!:”_ ** Clotho snarled, showing her fangs. “ **_:Honestly, I don’t know why we haven’t just bitten you off yet!:”_ **

**_“:Because Master forbid it.:”_ ** Lachesis said. “ **_:Can’t either one of you go five minutes without arguing?:”_ **

**_“:Shut up, Lachesis!:”_ **

Clotho hissed an almost human sounding sigh. “ **_:You’ve only come here recently, hatchling?:”_ **

**_“:I just got back from school today, yeah.:”_ ** He said. “ **_:Um...you can call me Harry, by the way.:”_ **

**_“:Harry.:”_ **

**_“:Suitable, I think. I like it.:”_ **

**_“:Improper for a purebloodmanthing!: It sounds like something the nomagicapes would name their young.”_ **

Both of the other heads turned on the right one, this time. **_“:Shut up, Atropos!:”_ **

Did they argue like this all the time?

“ **_:Have you familiarized yourself with the manor yet, Harry?:”_ ** Lachesis asked over Atropos’ continued mutinous grumbling.

“ **_:Not yet, no. Tom didn’t have time to show me around before he had to head out and take care of something else.:”_ **

**_“:Well then, we’d be happy to provide you a tour.:”_ ** Clotho hissed, already directing the Runespoor’s long body around. Deaf to Atropos’ protests, despite their rapidly increasing volume.

“ **_:I’d like that.:”_ ** He said around a smile. “ **_:Thank you.:”_ ** Leaving Helios atop the bed to sleep, he followed the massive snake out into the hall.


	3. Keres Alexos

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I figured it was probably a good time to put this here: this is not going to be a story where Tom is 'good'. He's still just as bad as Voldemort is and just as willing to do horrible things to get what he wants, but I'm going for more of a lawful evil approach with him since he's supposed to be 'sane', or at least as close to sane as he could ever come. Dumbledore, likewise, isn't 'evil' in this one. If anything, no one is 'good' by the standard definition of the word but they're all doing what they believe is right and disagree quite strongly-and sometimes violently-about what that means.

The doors of his wardrobe creaked as Tom pulled them open. Drawing out a wizarding robe in standard black, with silver buckles down its front, and changing into it and a set of calf-high dragonhide boots. After checking his appearance in the mirror, correcting the lay of his hair and then made certain he had a copy of the raven’s medical scan on him before pronouncing himself ready to set out.

With a last glance at Munnin, where the raven he’d purchased for the sake of sending letters sat atop its perch, Tom disappearated with a crack and the whirl of fine fabric. Appearing an instant later outside the wrought iron gates of a familiar manor. Little had changed since Abraxas’ day, though the garish white peacocks were, admittedly, new. The wards still recognized his presence and did nothing to bar his passage.

He’d made it halfway up the curving, stone lined walked before a child with grey eyes and platinum hair blocked his path. Holding a shining broom and looking as if he’d just come off the pitch Tom remembered being located just beyond the nearby wall of hedges. 

“Who are you?” the boy demanded. The expected tone of entitlement he’d long ago come to associate with the Malfoy name staining every letter. It was almost enough to make his lips draw back over his teeth in amusement; bare his canines like a serpent would its fangs. “What are you doing here?”

“My name is Keres. I’m an old...acquaintance of your father’s. And your grandfather’s.” He fluidly crouched down to match the boy’s height. Peered into his eyes. Easily plucked his name from the surface of his undefended mind. “I’ve come to seek your Lady Mother’s services for my new charge, Draco. But I’d like to speak with your father too, if he’s in.”

The child’s eyes narrowed, suspicious, but he nodded nonetheless. Prodded, perhaps, by the very slightest brush of a compulsion. “Solkey!” A male elf in a dirty rag appeared at the boy’s side. Tom resisted the urge to sneer. “Tell mother and father than an ‘old acquaintance’ named Keres is here to see them.”

“Of course, Young Master.” The elf disappeared with a pop.

“They’ll be in the entry room by the time we reach the manor.” Draco turned and began to walk, broom clutched to his chest and nose high in the air. “Come with me.”

Amused, Tom rose and followed after him. Weaving between the hedgerows and following the s curve of the trail until they reached the manor at last.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were both indeed waiting for them, dressed in fine robes and with guarded faces. He had vague memories of both of them, as children barely able to walk, but had never worked with either. Unlike his current counterpart. Lucius, at least, looked as Tom would have expected; it was easy to find the ghost of Abraxas in his features.

His father must have shown him pictures of his time at Hogwarts, because the Malfoy Lord took one look at him and went whiter than snow.

“Narcissa!” Both the woman and the boy jumped at the tone of his voice. “Take Draco! Now!”

“But father-!”

“ _Go!”_

The woman looked at her husband in confusion as she took her son’s hand, beginning to gently lead him from the room. Deaf to his complaints.

“Do return when you’re finished, if you would, Lady Malfoy.” Tom called softly after her. “I have a need for your unique skill set.”

Lucius was on his knees the instant the door clicked shut, his long platinum hair pooling on the floor around him. “M-My Lord! You’ve returned!”

“Indeed, Lucius.” Tom drew his wand and rolled the smooth wood between his fingers. “I have made a return. Of a sort. Though this is not the best venue for such a subject.”

“O-Of course!” The man was on his feet a moment later, though he still refused to meet his eye. “Follow me, my Lord. The grand sitting room is this way.” Down another hallway and into a fine, blue-toned room which Tom clearly remembered from his prior visits. “Can I get you anything?”

“Tea, I think.” Tom lowered himself onto the nearest couch and spread his arms across the back. Watching Lucius’ eyes follow his wand. “Sit, Lucius.”

The man obeyed, as if he wasn’t the Lord of the manor in which Tom was now sitting. Another elf appeared a moment later, passing him a cup of tea. He reached into his robes and removed a handful of peppermint leaves. Crushing them between his fingers before dropping them into his drink.

“Your father was my oldest and most faithful servant. That was why I entrusted him with my diary.” Over the top of his cup, he watched the man go stiff. “I know you used it in an act of petty revenge. I know it was destroyed because of your actions. Just as I know that you denounced me after my fall.”

The other man had shrunk down into his robes. Pressed himself back against the cushions of the chair he sat atop. “M-My Lord, I-I-.”

Tom silenced him with a raised hand. “The diary, as things stand now, would have been a liability as it belongs to my current counterpart. As for the matter of your denouncement, I do not blame you. I’d gone mad long before you were called into my service. Had forgotten what it was that I’d set out to protect. We are serpents, not lions, and I’ve no use for followers who’ve landed themselves in Azkaban.” Lucius flinched as he leaned forward to settle his cup on its saucer. “Your father was my oldest and most trusted servant, as I’ve said. Now that he is gone, I had hoped to pass that mantle on to you. If you would have it.”

The Malfoy Lord was staring at him in an uneasy mixture of curiosity and relief. “My Lord?”

“I must guard my secrets, Lucius. But I can tell you that I have come from another time. A time before my shattering. And that I sit before you favored by not only Fate and Magic, but Death.” He said. “My counterpart still exists. Tied to this plain by the actions that drove him mad. And Dumbledore is wise to his presence. Will soon be wise to mine, if he isn’t already. I haven’t many allies I am certain of. I must make small movements. Keep low and act with great discretion while I cut myself a foothold. Return from the Death Eaters to the Knights they once were. You are the only one, as of yet, that I know that I can count on. I cannot afford to use the mark.”

“Of course, my Lord! To serve again would be an honor! The Potter boy-.”

“Is my soulbound and under my protection as of his formal blood adoption into my line a few hours ago.” Tom said. “He will indeed realize his prophesied fate as a savior in standing beside us and saving our world from itself. For the time being, my concern is cementing my presence in the Wizengamot as the recently returned Lord of the Gaunt and Peverell lines. You will assist me with this, I trust?”

Not an option, and the man knew it. Lucius nodded. “It would be an honor, my Lord.”

“Marvelous.” Reaching into his robes again, Tom removed the paper from the inner pocket and passed it across the table. “Call your wife, if you would? Harrison requires her healer training if he’s to recover from what those muggle curs Dumbledore left him to have done.”

“This is-?”

“The results of his medical scans, at Gringotts. Earlier today. The first time he’d been properly examined since my counterpart’s actions left him an orphan.”

The man looked positively enraged, fingers crinkling the parchment harshly. “This is a magical child!”

“Yet more evidence of the broken system we’re shackled to.” Tom said. “Please, Lucius.”

“Solky!” The elf was back a moment later. “Fetch Narcissa.”

It wasn’t more than a minute later that the Lady Malfoy was walking through the door. The lingering shadow of confusion on her face dispelled by the sight of his wand. “My Lord.” A hand flew to the hollow of her throat.

Graceful and fluid as a shadow, Tom rose from his seat and brushed the knuckles of her other hand with his lips. “Lady Malfoy.” He turned to the other man, eyes falling on the parchment still clutched in his hands. “I’ve a need of your skill as a healer. I’ve come to be the legal guardian of my soulbound, Harry James Potter-oh, yes, I’m certain that news is a surprise-and the mutts Dumbledore left him to have done horrific damage. I needed someone trustworthy to tend him.”

“Narcissa!”

The woman was all too pleased for the excuse to put distance between them and quickly went to her husband’s side. Accepting the paper that he passed her and reading it over. Tom watched her lips thin and spots of color appear on her high cheeks. “Hecate’s grace!” She said. “That poor boy.”

“I’ll pay you well for your time. And your discretion.” Tom said. “I’d appreciate it if you could arrive at Slytherin manor at noon. The wards will let you through.”

“Of course, my Lord.” Narcissa folded the paper and moved to hand it back to him only to retreat again when he waved a hand. “It would be an honor to be of aid.”

Tom inclined his head. “As it is a relief to have so influential an ally to rely on in this...perilous time.” He said. “I am unable to move openly while uncertain of whom remains trustworthy to turn to, lacking the necessary numbers and with the distraction of a certain...project Harry kicked off with the destruction of the diary. For now, we will do what we can from inside the system.”

“Of course.” Lucius said. “Anything you’ve need of, my Lord, is just a call away.”

“It will do our side good that I’ve my sanity again, I think.” With the light touch of long fingers, Tom rolled his yew wand in his hands once more. “Our destruction and bloodshed must be focused, done only when unavoidable, if we’re to succeed.” A pause of silence. “I think it’s best that Draco not know. At least for the time being. He is young. Children are impulsive. And like all Malfoys before him, he is proud. He may let something slip without meaning to that will fall upon the wrong ears.”

“What should we tell him of you, my Lord?”

“That I am a distant cousin. Family looking to reconnect. When he is older he can know, but not yet.” He said. “Harrison already knows to refer to me as Keres Alexos in public, outside specific circles. I’ve already introduced myself as such when he confronted me on my arrival.” The other man made an undignified choking sound. Tom let his face slide into something reassuring. Warm. Felt the thin skin around his eyes crinkle with the smile he didn’t truly feel. “He’s not even thirteen yet. A child who does not know better. He has made no slight.”

A palpable sense of relief permeated the room.

“Will you be taking dinner with us, Lord?” Narcissa asked suddenly.

Ah, the familiar game of etiquette and tests. The possibility of just such an offer had been why he’d told Harry he might not be back in time to share the evening meal. “You honor me with your hospitality, Lady Malfoy.”

“Shall we have it in the green room, then?” this question was aimed at her husband, who nodded.

“Of course, dear.” Lucius said, then inclined his head respectfully in Tom’s direction. “If you would follow us, my Lord?”

“Keres, please, from this point forward into the night.”

“Of course.”

The trip to the green room-rather uninspiringly named for its color-was a short one. He was offered a seat at the head of the table, in the place of honor, which he perched atop with regal poise. The doors groaning again a moment later to allow Draco inside.

“Why are we in the green room?” the child asked.

“Because we’ve a guest, Dragon.” His father said. “You met Keres on his way in, did you not? He’s a distant cousin of yours and will be sharing the evening meal with us.”

The child made a show of proper manners and extended his hand. “Draco Malfoy. Apologies for my rudeness in our earlier meeting.”

“Apology accepted, young Dragon.” He carefully took the boy’s small hand in his own. Watching grey eyes fall on the Slytherin ring on his finger. “Call me Keres.”

“Keres.” With another nod, he stepped back and took the empty chair beside him. As food appeared before them-a beautifully prepared spread which easily rivaled that offered at Hogwarts-Tom couldn’t help but notice the way the boy watched his parents, and their behavior towards him.

Lips twitching upwards, finishing preparing a plate with just enough of everything on it to be appropriately polite, he leaned over towards the child and spoke again. “You like Quidditch?”

Draco started and blinked up at him, momentarily baring a strong resemblance to a shocked owl. Then, he arranged his expression back into a careful neutrality and said “I’m the seeker for my House, at Hogwarts.”

Seeker. The same position Harry held. Did he sense a schoolyard rivalry? “And that House would be Slytherin, yes?”

He tipped up his pointed little nose; a small dog posturing before a dire wolf. The amusement of it all thrummed through his blood like an electric charge. His magic danced around him. “Of course!”

“Let it never be said you’re not a Malfoy, Little Dragon.” He said. “You do your House, and your family, proud.”

The child swelled up like a pleased Kneazle and preened.

“My charge, and soulbound, adores the sport as well. Perhaps over the winter holidays, once things around my manor have settled down, you could come visit him and play.”

Apparently growing restless with the length of his attentions on their son, Lucius spoke again. “How long have you been back in Britain, Keres?”

“Only just over a month, now.” And what a shock it had been to wake up 50 years in the future with only the date and a name. He hadn’t even known what his soulbound had looked like before he’d looked him up. Luckily information on Harry Potter wasn’t exactly difficult to find. “There still remains a few matters that need settled before I can move forward with my intentions to claim my seats on the Wizengamot. But it shouldn’t be too much longer now before the Dark has one more powerful voice on its side.”

“And the Light will be losing the seats of your charge?”

Tom inclined his head. “Indeed. It won’t be enough to unseat Dumbledore, unfortunately, but it will be a blow nonetheless.” He said. “A death by a thousand cuts. Slow. And painful.” If only their position were secure enough to permit drawing things out so. “Each move must count. We cannot afford a single step out of place.”

“Quite right.” Lucius said.

“What seats do you have?”

“Draco!”

“Now, now. It’s quite alright.” Tom turned to the boy again. “The Noble and Most Ancient House of Gaunt, which also contains the seats allotted to the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Slytherin from whom they directly descended, as well as the Most Noble and Most Ancient House of Peverell.” Draco’s eyes had gone as wide as galleons. “I also, through my recently acquired charge, have gained command of the seats allotted to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black,” he extended an acknowledging nod to Narcissa, “and another merely Noble, tastelessly Light House which will not be named here.”

There were gears turning in Draco’s head but Tom didn’t bother delving behind his eyes. Returning his attention to the elder Malfoy’s as dinner was replaced with desert.

“A drink, Keres?” Lucius offered once the table had been cleared. This offer one Tom could refuse without treading on the Pureblood’s toes, so he took the chance to do so.

“I’m afraid I must pass. There is still much to be done. And I have to ensure a certain boy is in his bed, where he belongs at an hour like this one.”

“I’ll see you out, then.” Lucius joined him in rising to his feet. “The floo-.”

“No need.” A flick of his wand sent the window behind the other man sliding open. “I think I’ll fly myself. A pleasant night, after all, ought to be enjoyed. Remember: noon.”

The shift was a simple one: easier than that of an Animagus, though to those looking on it would appear identical as his body shrank and inky feathers replaced hair and clothing. Swooping low over the elder Malfoy’s shoulders, Tom soared out the window and into the night.

He flew for hours. Feeling the night wind and sea spray against his feathers. Watching the stars turn overhead and the ocean heave beneath him until, at last, the manor appeared below. Tom angled his wings inward and dropped into a sharp descent. Landing with a faint thud once inside Harry’s room. Hedwig hooted at him from her perch. Helios coiled beside Harry’s head, atop the pillow. The floorboards creaked as he crossed the room to stand over his charge. Lightly brushing the wild splay of bangs from his forehead. Frowning at the prickling chill which emanated from his scar.

 _Could there really be another Horcrux sat in front of me already?_ Gently, so as not to wake him, he pressed the pad of his thumb to the sleeping boy’s skin. Reaching outward with his awareness. Feeling the fading tails of something as it darted out of reach; warned away by the touch of death which clung to him. _Bloody hell, this can’t have been intentional. But, nonetheless, it’s undeniably the case. Harry is a Horcrux himself._

It was a fact Tom would have preferred to rectify then and there. To suck out of the boy like a Vampire drew blood; like how souls were drawn free of the victims by the twisted parodies of the Death-touched known as Dementors who existed outside of the cycle entirely. But there was too much risk of harming him with rash action. He’d have to leave it where it was until proper measures could be taken and determining such would take effort and time.

Satisfied that the boy was safe and asleep, Tom swept from the room-softly closing the door behind him-and made the familiar trek to his office. Removing his traveling cloak as he walked through the door and setting the hearth alight with the flick of his wrist. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos raised their heads and flicked their tongues.

“ **_:Tell me of him.:”_ ** The door of the liquor cabinet squeaked as it swung open.

“ **_:The hatchling was settling himself into his nest when we found him, Master.:”_ ** Clotho said.

“ **_:He seemed pleased with the nest; it’s certainly large enough for him.:”_ ** Lachesis said.

“ **_:He’s too small!:”_ ** Came Atropos’ surly grumble as she laid her head down and went back to sleep.

“ **_:We escorted him around the manor in your absence. He talked about his manthingnestmates back at the bigrocklearningnest.:”_ **

**_“:Any interesting information on them?:”_ ** Selecting a dusty bottle of unopened Quintin Black, Tom lifted a whiskey glass from the top shelf and poured himself a generous portion of the obsidian draught. Watching the light from the hearth dance across its surface in spirals of orange and gold. 

“ **_:There is a dotfaceredhair he calls by the manthingname of ‘Ron’._ ** :” Most likely a Weasley, from the sound of it. Merlin knew the family was probably still breeding like a warren of rabbits even to that day. **_“:The dotfaceredhair’s nest mate had a bad experience with you the last time they were up at the bigrocklearningnest. A shard of you tried to eat her.:”_ **

That would be the diary, then. Its destruction had been mentioned, not long after the conclusion of their deal. It would explain why the boy had recognized him immediately, requiring only the sound of his voice, and why he’d seemed so shocked to see him. 

“ **_:He also spoke of the brownbushhairedone. From the nomagicapenest.:”_ ** A muggle born then? Why was he not surprised? Grimacing, Tom took a sip of his drink and lowered himself behind the sturdy oak desk. “ **_:He says that she is very smart. That she is always using the wordinkblocks that you also seem to enjoy.:”_ **

Well, if her love of books translated to a willingness to learn and adopt the culture of the world she was joining then he would tolerate her. If it kept the little raven happy. If she was useful. That much he’d need to determine for himself. Tom yanked open the top drawer and drew out an inkwell, eaglefeather quill and a journal, bound in simple black leather.

The once horcrux had been destroyed beyond even magical repair. The one before him now, a mere imitation. But the near perfect similarity was still enough to make him smirk. Sometimes it was the simple things. Flipping to an empty page and popping the inkwell open with his thumb, Tom began to record the outcome of the day’s events. Alongside the troubling notion that Harry was, in fact, an accidental Horcrux of his current counterpart and all the potential amendments to his plans that such a thing might require.

“ **_:And dinner?:”_ ** He paused to take another drink. Enjoying the smooth burn of the strong alcohol in his chest. “ **_:Did he eat? How much? And what?_ **:”

“: **_He ate enough that he felt ill after, though it didn’t seem much to us. Atropos is right to call him small.:”_ ** Clotho said. **_“:He ate some of the green things that the smallbatearthings sent. And some of the orange things. And the cooked meat. And he said that the flatroundbrownthing was his favorite.:”_ **

Of course he’d eat the treacle. Tom shook his head and fought off a reluctant smirk. Lowering the glass midway through the act of taking another drink when Atropos piped up “ **_:Is your hatchling going to die, Master?:”_ **

The aching, hollow pain in his gut as he lay curled atop a threadbare cot. The only thing he’d eaten in three days, the moldered crust of a stale roll. All that Wool’s could spare for the son of the Devil. Tom’s fingers constricted around the glass until his knuckles stood out stark white against the surrounding flesh. “: **_Not if I have anything to say about it.:”_ ** The dark liquid in the glass rippled as Tom set it down with a heavy clunk. **_“:We’ve both suffered beneath the wheel the Phoenix forged. And we’ll break it, if we have to burn the very world down to do so.:”_ ** One of the logs in the hearth gave way with a crack, sending a gout of sparks swirling up the chimney. “ **_:Some forests, after all, can only be regrown from a flame wake.:”_ **


	4. Laying the Groundwork

“ **_:Speaker, the owl is staring at you.:”_ **

Harry jerked awake to Helios’ hissed voice. Vision a blur of light and color. A brief sense of panic swept over him at the recognition of the fact that where he’d found himself was neither the Burrow, Number 4 or Hogwarts before the memories of the night before returned. Coming home on the train to find the young Dark Lord awaiting him in place of his relatives. The Knightbus. The vision of Death and the deal that he’d been forced to make. Gringotts and the rings and the blood adoption. Shopping in Diagon Alley. Coming back to the manor, which he’d been told to call home and given free range of and had gone on to spend the entire night traipsing around in the company of a snowy owl, a sunbeam snake and a Runespoor.

The rational part of him still couldn’t believe it hadn’t all been some bizarre fever dream.

“Hedwig.” Sleep still weighed down on his shoulders as he thrust his hand out in search of his glasses. Shoving them onto his face once he’d finally located them. “Stop staring at poor Helios. You’re making him nervous.”

His familiar hooted indignantly and rustled her feathers on her perch.

“Morning to you too.”

“ **_:You left the window open, speaker.:”_ ** Helios’ scales were cool and smooth against his skin as the snake pushed up under the rumpled blue robe that he’d slept in, having nothing better to change into. “ **_:The other speaker flew in late last night, on black bird wings. He watched you sleep a brief while before he left.:”_ ** Tom had been in there the night before? Had watched him sleep? Hadn’t hurt him? A sizable part of Harry was still waiting for the other shoe to drop and for the young Dark Lord to round on him once his guard had fallen far enough. “ **_:It’s cold. Please shut it.:”_ **

Such was life with a snake, he supposed: being used like a warming stand and asked to shut the window. Briefly, the image of Draco, shivering clutching at a hot rock and complaining about drafts, popped into his head and Harry couldn’t help but laugh as he swung his feet out of the far-too-large bed. Curling his toes against the wood as he crossed the room and forced the window shut.

Hedwig fluttered down onto his shoulder a moment later, ignoring Helios’ hiss of surprised displeasure, clutching a parchment in her beak.

“Is that for me?” Hedwig hooted and, once he’d taken the parchment, nipped gently at his fingertips. Unfolding it, he found a short written note from Tom.

_Come to the dining room when you’ve woken, Harry. There’s something we need to discuss._

_P.S. If you haven’t found it yet, the door to the washroom is in the alcove to the right._

Luckily, he’d gotten that information out of Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos-or rather Clotho and Lachesis while Atropos just snarled at him about using his eyes-the night before. With Hedwig still happily on his shoulder and Helios still grumbling around his neck, he proceeded into the washroom to clean himself up for the day.

Bathing in an actual bathroom wasn’t something he usually got to do outside of Hogwarts. His Aunt Petunia had forced him to use the garden hose, with its weak flow of freezing cold water, to bathe whenever the need to do so had arisen. The ‘tub’ he’d been provided with was really closer in size to a small swimming pool.

Drying off and changing back into the blue robe, Harry collected his wand from the bedside table and exited the room. Taking a few wrong turns before he managed at last to find the dining room.

The long, grand glossy table from the night before had since been transfigured into a smaller more intimate two person ensemble. Still of the same dark cherry wood. It almost looked out of place in the comparatively gigantic room. The young Dark Lord was already seated, dressed in a button down shirt and fitted slacks. One leg crossed over the other and bangs falling into his eyes as he read that day’s issue of the _Daily Prophet._ A steaming cup of peppermint tea in front of him.

Having heard the door open, Tom folded the newspaper and sat up straighter. Those dark eyes finding him a moment later. “Good morning, Little One.” He said. “Sleep well?”

“Brilliantly.” The bed in the room he’d been given had to be more comfortable than the one in the Gryffindor dorms. Tom gestured to the tray sitting on the other side of the table and Harry followed his gaze. Tilting his head in confusion at the sight of the small, round containers that awaited him. “What’s this?”

“Tea.” Tom set the folded paper down and brushed his hair back from his eyes. ”I did tell you that you could choose a different brew each morning, if you liked. Select one and Kipsy will have it made for you.”

There had to be at least twenty different tins! He doubted even Hogwarts had so much tea. Selecting a tin at random Harry opened it and carefully smelled the contents. The near overpowering scent of chai swamped him and he flinched back. Ignoring Tom’s soft laughter. The second tin he picked up he recognized as chamomile from all the times he'd made the same for Petunia and her awful ‘friends’. He finally settled on something sweet and floral which Tom informed him, after it had been handed off to Kispy, was called ‘black’.

Breakfast appeared alongside the little teapot; a full spread of eggs and bacon and puddings.

“Have a seat, Harry. It’s time you had a proper meal, here, and not just treacle tart.”

The little raven felt his face burn. “I didn’t just eat treacle! Did Lachesis tell you that?”

“And Clotho.” Those thin lips pulled back into an amused smirk. “A little bit of everything, please. The sooner we get you back into a healthy weight the better.”

Grumbling to himself, Harry picked up his plate and portioned out a bit of everything. If only to satisfy Tom’s watchful gaze. “Helios told me that you can turn into a raven.” Harry said. “And that you watched me sleep last night.”

Tom paused midway through the act of buttering his toast. “I’d thought him asleep when I arrived but I suppose I was mistaken.” He said. “And I came in to check on you. I’ve an interest in your health and in your safety, Harry. I’d have thought that would be clear by now.”

And it was still a bloody weird thing to think about. Voldemort, in any form, having a vested interest in him being alive. “But it’s true? You can turn into a raven?”

Tom didn’t answer right away. Taking a drink from his tea and adjusting his seat. “The ability to transform into an animal is not uncommon, Harry. Any wizard who should wish to do so can undertake the process, as you’ll learn this coming year in Transfiguration.” Tom said. “By keeping a folded Mandrake leaf under their tongue for a full lunar cycle, and then using it to brew a potion, alongside the incantation ‘amato animo animato animagus’, one can gain the ability to take on an animal form. Though it can be dangerous. One of the reasons the Ministry keeps such a close eye on them. The other being that an unknown animal form can be used to get up to quite a lot of trouble.” He took a delicate, dainty bite of toast; all thin lips and white teeth. “But, no. I am not an animagus. It’s a portion of the abilities granted by my deal: Ravens are the messengers, and harbingers of Death. Much like the Grim is his hunting hound.”

“Deathborne was what the goblins called it?” An assenting noise. “Is that...what I am?”

“Death hasn’t touched you yet, Harrison. Not in such a capacity. Though I think he has plans to do so soon. Bigger plans than what he had for me.” For a moment, Tom appraised him. The sweep of long lashes shadowing dark blue. “We’ll see. Now, enough of that. Eat your breakfast.”

Harry huffed and picked up his fork. Shoving a piece of egg into his mouth. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

“Ah, no. I wanted to alert you to the identity of the healer who will be seeing to you.” Already, Harry could tell he wasn’t going to like this. “I needed someone Dark aligned. Someone trustworthy. In the wake of what transpired with the diary especially I know you have hard feelings towards the Malfoys-.”

“Please tell me I’m not going to be treated by Lucius.” Tom sent him a sharp glare for his interruption but didn’t scold him. “He’d probably wring my neck the minute you turned my back. Whether he knew who you were or not.”

“He’ll do nothing of the sort. And no, though he will be coming to the manor as well. He and I have business to discuss.” Tom said. “It will be the Lady Malfoy who sees you. Narcissa. Draco’s mother.”

The only member of the ferret’s family he hadn’t met yet. Harry didn’t have high hopes for her prospects of being any better than her son and husband. He folded his arms. “You’re not going to tell me that I have to get along with Draco now, are you?”

“You may need to work with him when you’re older. But no.” Tom went back to his paper. “Such matters are between you and the young dragon.”

A small relief, that. Harry shoved another forkful of egg into his mouth. Helios yawned, showing off his long thin teeth. He fed Hedwig a strip of bacon, prompting Tom to admonish him for allowing his owl to eat off his plate. Breakfast passed that way; in an odd companionable quiet. Finally, when their plates had been cleared and vanished back into the kitchens, the young Dark Lord rose from his chair. “The Lord and Lady Malfoy will be arriving at noon. By then, your new wardrobe should have arrived. Changed into something befitting of receiving guests: black grey or white. I’ll call you with me to the front room when we’re to greet them.”

Unable to argue, Harry nodded and stroked Hedwig’s feathers. “May I send some letters, Tom?”

“To your friends?” Harry’s nod was cautious. “You’re not to send them anything until I’ve read them. We can’t afford too much information getting out just yet. Can’t afford for Dumbledore to begin to act while we don’t quite have our feet beneath us.” 

The little raven had to admit that he was surprised Tom had allowed him to write a letter at all. “Tom.”

“Yes, Little One?”

“Why do you hate Dumbledore so much?”

“It would take a century to explain that in full detail, Harry. But I will say this: I hate him because he is responsible for many of the legislation and actions which have eroded our way of life. Not out of spite, mind, not because he wants to see us dominated by the Muggles, but because he is naive. Because he doesn’t understand the truth that you and I have suffered. That Muggles have, and always will, hate that which is not like them. And that the magical world will _never_ be safe until we’ve dominated the world. For where the strong can rule the weak, the weak do not rule the strong. They slaughter them. Out of jealousy. Out of fear.”  
“There’s no such thing as good and evil. Only power and those too weak to seek it.” Remembering the hissing voice of the monster attached to the back of Quirrell's head, the screams of the man as his flesh crumbled like ash, Harry shuddered. 

Tom’s brow furrowed. “Where did you hear that?”

“You.” He shook his head. “Him.”

The young Dark Lord sighed and massaged his temples. “I think the better way to say it would be this: there’s no such thing as good and evil, only that which each of us believes is right.” Harry couldn’t help but think that he liked that saying much better. “Now run along and write those letters. We’ll send them off with the evening post.”

Smiling, with owl and snake in tow, Harry left the dining room. Hedwig happily resumed her place on her perch. Helios burrowing further beneath his robe. Removing some parchment, an inkwell and a quill from his trunk and quickly taking up a seat at the desk.

He asked each of his friends how their respective trips were-Ron specifically about Egypt and inquiring after where, exactly, Hermione had ended up going-and when they’d find themselves back in London. Hoping he’d be able to convince Tom to allow him to do his school shopping with them, or at least meet up with them. Then, after much consideration of exactly how to word it, explained to them both that he’d been adopted by a distant family member named Keres. Though more than that he didn’t make an effort to say.

An unfamiliar owl baring a self-resizing parsel of clothing arrived on the sill of his window by the time that he’d finished. After handing the bird an owl nut and taking the package it bore, Harry spent the remainder of his time before the Malfoy’s arrived searching through his wardrobe. By the time Tom came to get him he’d settled on a white acromantula silk robe with little golden buttons and his hair was even more of a mess than usual.

Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos were draped around Tom’s shoulders like a heavy winter scarf but kept silent as they made the brief trip to the front room. Arriving just as the hearth lit up with emerald flames. Lucius was the first to emerge, dressed as Harry remembered him with his black robe and serpent headed cane, followed by a tall woman with blonde hair and blue eyes, though they were lighter than Tom’s.

Tom, whom he’d subconsciously stepped behind until he was all but obscured from view.

“My Lord.” Lucius swept into a bow so deep it almost reminded Harry of Dobby. His wife murmuring the same greeting and offering a delicate curtsy. “An honor to see Slytherin manor. Father spoke of it often, when he lived.”

“You’ll be seeing more of it than the foyer, Lucius, so do hold some of your amazement for the rest of my house.” Tom said rather stiffly. “Accompany me to my office; we’ll go over my immediate plans then, as well as the full persona I’ll be working under. The documentation from Gringotts just arrived an hour ago. Narcissa, I leave my charge in your accomplished hands.” Switching to parseltongue and addressing the Runespoor on his shoulders, Tom hissed “ **_:Ensure they both behave.:”_ **

**_“:I don’t misbehave!:”_ ** Harry grumbled, his answering hiss drawing the surprised gazes of both Malfoys before Tom ordered Lucius out of the room with him and swept off into the hall. Leaving Harry with Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos in front of him and no shield from the woman’s gaze.

He couldn’t stop his gaze from plaintively snapping to where Tom had disappeared to. The action drew a smile-warm, despite how thin it was-onto her face. “It’s good that you already trust so much in him to keep you safe. Even with your history.” She said. “A soulbind is a rare thing. And a privilege. He will take good care of you.”

Slowly, worried moving too fast would incite the woman whom Dobby had referred to on several occasions as a ‘Dark Witch’ to curse him, Harry bent down and extended a hand to the Runespoor. Teetering when the massive snake coiled around his shoulders, having underestimated her weight.

“You can speak to them?” He must have sent her a blank look because she clarified. “The serpents?”

“Er...yeah.” Not refined in the least. Had Tom still been in the room to hear he’d likely have swatted him. “Got me in a right bit of trouble last year when your git husband gave Ginny a dark object that set loose Slytherin’s basilisk on the school.”

“Please, accept a formal apology for the trouble and harm that our family has caused to you in the past.” Narcissa certainly sounded genuine, but how the bloody hell was he to know if she was telling the truth? “You’ve nothing to fear from us now, as you are under the Dark Lord’s direct protection. You’re a part of him, in a way that cannot be undone. I’m aware that it will be a long time to come, but I hope one day you might consider us your allies Heir Potter.”

Harry made a noncommittal feline noise. It didn’t seem to discourage the witch who delicately drew her wand; a long thin length of silvery wood.

“The Dark Lord contracted my aid in ensuring your recovery. He showed me the results of your scan at Gringotts-truly terrible, what those Muggles subjected you to, and under Dumbledore’s watch as well-but I’d like to do a scan of my own if you’d permit me?”

He offered a reluctant nod and forced himself not to flinch when she waved her wand over his head. A cold feeling settling like ice against his skin as a roll of parchment appeared out of the air. Narcissa plucked it from where it hovered and unrolled it. Scanning the contents with those pale blue eyes. Her expression grim but unsurprized. “I’d hoped the goblins were wrong.” She said with a sigh. “You’re in terrible shape, I’m afraid. Your sight being the least of it. We’ve a lot to go over: treatments, poultices, potions. Best that we get started.”

It was firewhiskey, this time, that Tom retrieved from his liquor cabinet. A short, wide bottle blown from sanded glass the color of Honeydukes finest chocolate and bearing the symbol of a horntail belching flames. The liquid inside a simmering amber color, made even more stark in contrast to the white ice floating in it, tinkling against the sides as he lounged atop his throne-like chair. Sorting through the assorted papers and various other documents of a false life-pictures and exams and what might pass as keepsakes-with the hand not baring the glass while Lucius tried to make himself appear more comfortable than he was. 

“Keres Alexos Gaunt-Peverell was born in the British Isles, but left at a young age and moved to northern europe. His parents were killed in an unfortunate encounter with a Ukranian Ironbelly and at the age of five was misraised by a distant Muggle relative up until the time where he reached school age and attended Durmstrang. Possessing a great affinity for the Dark Arts, alongside other practical subjects like Potions Transfigurations and Charms. When he learned of his soulbound and the position in which he’d found himself, his parents likewise dead and his relatives likewise muggle and abusive, he hastened to return to the land of his blood to rescue him. With a sizable fortune and a powerful name, he’s looking to reclaim his lines long lost power and bring Britain’s magical government back around onto a proper course. In doing so, he found an ally in you and you made the decision to take the young revived Lord under your wing.” Tom sipped from the glass. Set it down. Adjusted the way that it sat on a coaster of pale agate and watched it twist further about, buoyed on the pale ring of water which had condensed beneath it. “If nothing else, then to prevent Albus bloody Dumbledore from trying to dig his claws into the poor man and drag him, kicking and screaming, to the side opposite his settled core.”

“A wise plan, my Lord. And a sound cover; explaining your sudden appearance, your prowess and your experience with the true nature of muggles that Dumbledore refuses to be anything but blind to.” Lucius said, shifting his grip on his cane. “Are you planning to make your reveal on the next meeting?”

“I intend to file the necessary paperwork within the next few days, and to attend the next meeting after that time. Yes.” Tom said. “Would you happen to know the date?”

“The day of the resumed Hogwarts term, my Lord.”

“Positioned such to give those with school age children the chance to free themselves of their children, and their accompanying obligations, in order to attend.” He savored the taste of the fine alcohol. Cocking his head to observe the other man. “I’ll be making use of the meeting to attempt to begin determining who among the fold can be trusted. I’ll expect you to have insight on the matter as well; I’ll request it after I’ve made my own observations, to better compare when the time comes.”

“Of course.” 

“Allow me, if I can do such without offending your pride Lucius,” not that he really cared but better to keep his servants satisfied when possible so that offense didn’t make them blind and stupid, “to explain what I am looking for; I feel it may be in order, as you never knew me as a sane and competent man. Only the shattered Dark Lord with a diminutive portion of a soul and no sound mind to speak of; hardly befitting, really, of the Heir of Slytherin himself.”

“Anything that I might better serve.”

“Then answer me this: why is it that your family, holding purity of blood as so high of a standard as you do, one of the Sacred 28, readily accepts Halfbloods into your line through marriage?”

“B-Because, my Lord, blood purity can only stretch so far before the product is...well…”

“Malformed.” Tom drawled. “A squib. Mad. Worse. Magic should breed with magic, yes, so that the rose remains. But when the blood grows thick, the bed overrun with strangling vines, nothing blooms at all. And then we really will be no different than them. I do not want to wipe them out. I want magic to be free. I want our customs and our way of life to be preserved. And the only way those things can be realized is by war. War against the system that pins us down as everything we’ve built, that our ancestors built, crumbles. War against the muggles, to remind them of their place and to remind us that we have hidden for too long: we must take their teeth before they turn them on us.”

“It is belief in the supremacy of magic, my Lord, and not of blood that you desire?”

“Supremacy of blood will ruin us before the muggles can. Look at the Goyles. The Crabs. The Blacks. My own line. Tell me, Lucius, how many currently living exceedingly powerful halfbloods can you name?”

“Dumbledore, my Lord.” Lucius said. “And Harrison.”

“And purebloods?”

A long pause. “You.”

His lips twitched, though Tom couldn’t honestly tell if it was a smile or a sneer his mouth was trying to form. “My father was a muggle.” Across the room, he heard Lucius’ audible swallow. “My father was a muggle who was also named Tom Riddle. He lived in a big manor on top of a tall hill in a tiny nothing town called Little Hangleton. And my mother, Merope Gaunt, a witch of the Serpent Tongue’s own line, so inbred she could barely use a wand, fell in love with him. So, one hot summer’s day while he was riding back alone after my uncle and grandfather had been sent to Azkaban for twice attacking the man before, she offered him a drink and drugged him. With Amortentia. Until she couldn’t bring herself to do it anymore and released him, in hopes he’d at least stay for his unborn son.” He picked up the glass. Inspected it critically. Sighed. “But that isn’t how love potions work. He abandoned her. Abandoned both of us. And she never cast a spell again. Sold off her family heirlooms to eat. And died giving birth on the edge of the year, on the doorstep of a Muggle Orphanage, after naming me for the man that had abused her and the man that she’d abused in turn.”

“My Lord-?”

“The Mudblood of Slytherin.” He said, not looking away from his reflection in the curved side of the glass. Paying no heed to the other man. “That was what they called me. Until I learned that my blood was that of the serpent. Until I found the chamber. Until I killed that girl with the basilisk inside and turned my diary into a horcrux. Shattering my mind. I never reigned with my full potential.” Lucius all but jumped out of his skin when Tom sat forward, folding his hands in front of him. “Some say that chaos is a pit, but it’s not. Chaos is a ladder. Many try to climb it. All of them fall. And most of them never get to try again - the landing breaks them apart on the stones of shame and history beneath. The stones set there by the victor. But I’ve been given that chance. That chance to climb again. And this time, I _will_ reach the top. And it will be the Light that breaks.”

“Of course, my Lord. I’ll begin compiling a list of whom would fit your requirements.”

Tom nodded, almost distractedly. “If, in the end, we must rebuild wholly from scratch so be it. I will never again have it that distinction be made beyond magic and muggle; there need be no further division.”

“...You would have us treat mudbloods as equals? And blood traitors?”

“You needn’t make so stark a change as to make one think you’d been imperioed Lucius. But the chosen of Lord Voldemort must lead by example.”

He could tell by the tight set of the skin around his eyes that the other man wasn’t happy, but he nodded nonetheless. Good. Compliance was all he required, and if it wasn’t given freely-though, for easy, he preferred it was-he would force it. “Good man.” Draining the rest of his fire whiskey in one, he rose from his seat behind the desk. “I’d expect your Lady Wife to be finished with her examination of my charge, as we are finished with our conversation. Shall we return to the entry room?”

Lucius restrained his response to a nod and followed him back through the manor’s curving hallways. Tom wasn’t certain quite what he expected to find when they re-entered the room, but Harry was sitting peaceably-if with a noticeable gap of distance between them-atop a cushion opposite Narcissa with the Runespoor draped across his lap like an unwound spool of yarn as the woman explained the very pared down basics of mediwizardry under the gaze of curious green eyes. Silencing the Malfoy Lord with a raised hand, Tom drew him back out into the hallway and waited. Something equal parts proud and ferociously jealous hissing in his chest. He waited until the explanation was finished before entering again, and allowing Lucius to enter behind him.

“He’s been set up with a regiment, then?”

Narcissa was quick to rise to her feet and bow. Harry rising slower, after looking over and displacing a complaining Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos from their perch. “He is certainly ill, my Lord, but he will recover; the damage was caught in time. He’s been given instructions on what potions to take daily; both written and verbal. They will be crafted by the best Potions Master in Britain as a personal favor and set to your manor as soon as they are ready. It’s best Heir Potter begins taking them immediately.”

“I expect, Little One, that you will cooperate with her instructions.” He sent an expectant look in the younger wizard’s direction, and smiled when Harry nodded. “Good. Narcissa, you’ve full permission to ambush him when you see fit to ensure he’s keeping to his routine. You’re both dismissed to return to your home.”

“Of course, my Lord.” After bidding their last farewells, the two Malfoy’s made a polite but somewhat hasty exit through the fireplace leaving the young Dark Lord and the Boy Who Lived alone.

“What do you think of Narcissa?”

Harry looked somewhat peeved to have to admit such a thing, but never the less informed him “I like her. She’s not a prat like her son and her husband.”

Tom offered an indulgent smile and placed a hand on his back, beginning to gently lead him from the room. “Now, the weather is fair outside so why don’t we go down into the gardens? While we walk, you can tell me what you learned today about magical healing.”


	5. Spinner's End

Harry had seen the stretch of ground which might have been a Quidditch pitch from afar the last time they’d been out in the gardens-briefly, a few days ago, while Tom had listened to him prattle on about a mix of painfully basic mediwizardry and the mechanics of Draco being so much of a prat when his mother should have balanced out at least a portion of his personality-but hadn’t gotten the chance to look at it closely enough to confirm whether or not it was what he hoped. So when Tom had put down that morning’s copy of the _Daily Prophet_ -after attentively listening to Harry explain that the front page story about how the winners of the grand prize of 700 galleons were the family of his best friend-and informed him he would be going out for a flight if he wished to join him, that he was able to confidently say that that was indeed what it was. He’d rushed to retrieve his Nimbus 2000 and found Tom patiently awaiting him on the manor’s expansive porch holding a model of broomstick he’d never seen before.

“Not exactly a modern racing broom,” he said upon noticing where the little raven’s eyes lingered. “But it will function well enough for our purposes today. And if I ever needed to outfly anything, except perhaps _a full grown dragon_ , I wouldn’t need a broom to do so.”

He had said that he could fly himself, by his own power, before. “Can you show me?” Harry asked. “How you do it, I mean. What it’s like. Not teach me, but-.”

“Yes, Little One. I can show you.” He said, lifting the broom slightly off the ground so that its tail sprigs wouldn’t crack against the ground, and starting across the emerald green lawns. “But let us fly on brooms a bit, first. We’ll toy with a quaffle. Maybe set loose a snitch so you can demonstrate those seeker skills for me. It would hardly be fair if you couldn’t catch me, even on the fastest broom on the market. Not that that’s what you currently have.”

“Are you sure you're not rusty? You did say that you haven’t flown on a broom since your fifth year. Wasn’t that 40 years ago?”

Grinning, Harry ducked the Tickling Hex which was shot at him. “Seven years, Harrison. Not even a decade. Temporal displacement aside.”

“Still rusty.”

“I’ll give you tarnish but not rust.”

The pitch wasn’t nearly as large as the one at Hogwarts, but it was more than the-admittedly ramshackle-cobbled together goal posts and overgrown field that he’d played on the year before at the Burrow. A faded looking box of balls sat open-greying quaffle, weakly rattling bludgers and brilliantly golden snitch-on the sideline. Tom lifted the quaffle in his large hands, clad in black leather gloves, and propped it under his arm. Looking comfortable atop a broom, and retaining an over the top level of perfection which absolutely shouldn’t have been possible on anything that was or ever had been human, as he hovered a few feet off the ground. Harry joined him a moment later, the polished handle of his Nimbus 2000 glinting in the sun.

“We’ll begin in 3...2...1!” The quaffle soared upwards from Tom’s hand, rapidly becoming a small spot against the pale blue sky, only to enlarge again as it fell. Both wizards shot upwards towards it, but though Harry was a seeker and had a seeker’s reflexes he wasn’t familiar with handling a quaffle. Tom, though, had been a chaser when he’d played. The quaffle the ball with which he was the most familiar. And he seized it with ease and darted off down the length of the pitch. Harry shot after him. His newer broom easily caught up with what Tom road, though he swiftly discovered that speed alone would not be enough to pin his opponent down and wrest the ball from his clutches. Tom maneuvering in such a way that, even outpacing him, the little raven was powerless to do anything to capture the quaffle himself until the brunet had thrown it through the goal at the far end.

Things went on like that for a time; Tom taking possession of the quaffle until he chose to throw it; Harry catching it, only to lose it again to the older man who somehow managed to out maneuver him every time. Finally, Tom descended and freed the snitch. The little golden ball fluttering its wings rapidly but unable to get free of his grasp.

“Well, ‘greatest seeker in a generation’. Let’s see what you can do.”

Despite the quidditch set being Merlin only knew how old the snitch was still incredibly quick and Harry lost sight of it within seconds of shooting off in pursuit. Able to catch a glimpse again a few minutes later after having circled the pitch a handful of times. Fluttering about the foot of the middle post. Harry dove like a falcon, pulling out of the descent a split second before he rammed into the ground, and snatched the golden orb out of thin air.

“Impressive.” Tom leaned against his broom, watching him as he floated over to where the older wizard waited. Dismounting the Nimbus 2000 and securing the snitch in its proper place, the way that Wood had taught him. “I’ve an appointment with the Unseelie Queen to be attending at Gringotts soon. But we have enough time for a little demonstration, if you’d still like one?”

Not about to pass up the chance to see someone fly without a broom, Harry was quick to nod. The young Dark Lord’s lips turned upwards into a toothless smile as he released the broom and stepped back from him. Black smoke coiling around him, up from his feet to cover the whole of his form. Rocketing upwards in a column of darkness at least a hundred feet overhead. Executing a handful of sharp, flashy maneuvers-Slytherins were all bloody show offs-and coming to a halt in mid air. The shadows spread outwards into a great sweep of shadowy wings as Tom hung there. Looking down at him. Suspended, for a moment, like the fallen angel he’d heard mentioned once at the church his uncle’s awful sister, Marge, had once dragged him to: Lucifer. And then the wings folded inwards and the black haze engulfed him again. Descending with a high pitched hiss to land once more on the grass beside him.

“Wicked.”

Tom attempted to mask his preening by straightening the robe he wore. “I _am_ quite impressive, aren’t I?” Merlin, for a moment there, he’d sounded exactly like Draco. “Shall we return to the manor, Harrison? It shouldn’t be terribly long that I’m gone: the Lady of Autumn won’t be difficult to deal with given my current status. Even considering the damage to my work my insane counterpart has done. I intend to be back before dinner; if your potions arrive with lunch you will take them.”

“Yes Sir.” It was all Harry could really say as he was swept back towards the manor. 

A pale, wispy mist clung to the surface of a dirty brown river and the rubbish scattered mud banks that it cut through. Far in the distance, barely visible through the haze of darkness, a chimney-the only remnant of a long unused mill still left standing-reared above the dreary skyline of Cokeworth like an agitated snake. Surrounded by rows and rows of decaying brick houses, blind windows staring out into nothingness, Narcissa Malfoy felt entirely out of place but the Pureblood witch forced herself to move forward until she reached the proper house; one among far too many left to rot in Spinner’s End. Raising her fist to knock and waiting with all proper patience for the sole resident of the home to open the door.

“Really,Severus.” She said upon catching sight of the man. “Lucius and I have told you many times now that you’re more than welcome to stay with us. Or that you should at least stay at the castle. Anywhere but this....place.”

Her son’s Godfather though he might very well be, at the moment Severus Snape looked in no way pleased to see her. His sallow face drawn down into harsh lines over his curved nose and black eyes. “Narcissa.” He drawled. “To what do I owe the pleasure whilst trying to manage the brewing of a particularly delicate potion?”

Ah, so that was why. She’d disturbed him while he was brewing. Likely one of his own experimental creations. Or something for that glittering fool up in the Headmaster’s office of Hogwarts. The very same fool who’d left a tiny, green eyed boy with bones thin as a bird’s to the mercy of monsters. Narcissa felt her lips thin and forced her anger down so nothing more of it would broadcast on her face. “A client of particular importance has approached me for my services; I, as I’m sure you well recall, am possessed of the necessary licenses for healing work. His charge was left at the mercy of muggles of the most vicious kind before he rescued him, and requires a battery of potions and poultices if he is to recover: everything from nutrient potions to bone strengtheners to the Tuor Draught for his abysmal eyes. And since he’s quite discerning, and will accept only the best for himself and those in his care, I knew the only one acceptable to make them would be you.”

“I’m busy, Narcissa.”

He turned to walk away, but she forced herself through the door before he could close it. Flashing blue meeting narrowed black. “Well, Severus, I suggest you make yourself _less_ busy. This poor child has been through hell and I will not allow you to prolong his suffering without _very_ good cause.”

“I take it that it’s not Draco?” she shook her head. “What reason do I have to brew that much for a brat to whom I’ve no connection?”

“I’ve a list,” Narcissa hissed, summoning the medical scan that she’d done of her Lord’s soulbound with a harsh flick of her wand, “of reasons for you right here. A long one. Have a look.”

Snape took the coiled scroll from where it hovered in thin air only after it had smacked him in the side of the head a few times and unrolled it. Shooting her a dagger-glare as he did so before finally looking down. His black eyes widening, and then going darker than they’d been before. Grip tightening around the parchment. “Who?” his voice was like ice.

“I cannot tell you, Severus. My...employer has sworn me to secrecy on the matter. For the boy’s good, lest someone make an effort to meddle.” She said. “You’ll be paid well. More than well. This job alone could easily get you out of,” Narcissa looked around at the cluttered space, books shoved into every open place that would take them, in open distaste, “here. My employer is aware of your skill, and his favor will be a valuable thing to hold in the coming days.”

Now Snape was openly giving her the side eye. “Is...employer the title you call your client, or perhaps it's better to say your client’s guardian, when you address him?” he asked. “Or is it ‘Dark Lord’?”

Even with all the time he’d spent trapped with Dumbledore up in the castle he hadn’t lost his edge. Narcissa almost smirked. “If you’re asking what I call him in private, my husband and I have been told to refer to him as Keres. Keres Alexos.” The name failed to ring any bells, but the faint flicker of suspicion didn’t leave his eyes. “Shall I alert him you’ve agreed, so that you can be sent your pay?”

The Potions Master considered her a moment longer with his glittering eyes before he extended a cautious nod. “Indeed, Narcissa. You may alert your...client, this ‘Keres Alexos’, that he shall have the necessary potions for his charge to make a full recovery with time. Provided that the boy takes them as he should.”

“He will.” She assured him. “Keres will ensure it. They haven’t been together long, but it’s obvious the child is-perhaps unconsciously-ready to please. And even if that proves not to be the case, I’ve been given free reign to...drop in as I see fit.”

Ah, the old threat of ‘take your potions or the mediwitch will get you’. He recalled some version of that having been quite effective indeed with Draco when he’d been young. “As the nutrient potions are the ones most desperately needed, I’ll begin brewing them tonight and send the first few doses ahead of pay.” He said. “Now, if you’d please? I’ve potions to finish.”

“Thank you, Severus. It’s a relief to know that that poor thing will soon be on the road to being put to rights.” She said. “And it will do you well to have his eyes on you in a good light. Excuse me.”

Snape watched the witch leave with narrowed eyes, locking the door behind her with a flick of his wand. Retreating back into his potion lab and crossing to the empty set of vials on the opposite side of the room. Lifting one down and carefully tracing the neck with the point of his wand to leave behind a ring of glowing blue which only he could see. If Narcissa wouldn’t tell him who it was that she was treating, who’d been so terribly mistreated and was now in the custody of one Keres Alexos, who might or might not be the Dark Lord Voldemort post some return he had not been made party to, then he’d just have to find out himself.

It was all but a certainty, after all, that the child attended the only wizarding school in Britain.


	6. Seven Devils

Munnin rustled his feathers and shifted atop his perch, the sun light filtering through the chink in the curtains behind him reflecting off the dull curve of its beak. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos had spent the night hunting out on the grounds and was now likely either sunning herself elsewhere in the manor or paying company to Harry and his own snake. Tom ignored the bird on the perch behind him and kept his dark eyes trained on the pages in front of him. On the words, penned in sharp strokes of a strong hand, which swirled across the page.

Diary. Locket. Ring. Cup. Diadem. Sword. Harry. Seven. Which meant eight pieces. Really, to create a bleeding Horcrux by mistake! Tom ran his fingers through his hair, restrained himself from tearing at it at the last possible moment and hissed. Not parsel but a wordless sound of utter frustration. He’d been so certain of himself in school. So assured. Assured that he would be great, no matter what. The greatest sorcerer in the world. The defender of magic, so feared that the masses wouldn’t dare to speak his name. But fear of death had blinded him to the consequences and he’d lost his greatest weapons; no, worse, he’d willingly cast them aside. A disarming smile. A handsome face with which to emote and beguile and manipulate. A voice that wouldn’t have been out of place on the devil himself. And his mind, the very thing that _made him_ the heir of Slytherin.

Small comfort he’d retained his magical control; what was power with no focus to direct it? Small wonder that he’d lost.

At least he knew what they were. Or what they most likely were. And one of them had already been destroyed. Now all he needed to do was track down the rest of them and tear the pieces from their moorings, and try to find a way-any way-to free Harry from his unwanted horcrux status. And then his counterpart would be vulnerable and could be dealt with. And with him out of the way they would be free to move forward with taking the world.

The first course of action would be to go after the two objects he knew his other self had acquired as he’d possessed leads on their locations before Death and his mutt had come busting through his door. The locket and the ring. 

Satisfied for the time being, Tom closed the journal on his desk and slid it back into its proper drawer and swept down the hall toward the dining room. Pausing in the doorway upon noticing that Harry was already there and leaning his weight against the frame. Observing him. Helios was coiled around his neck like a hematite choker. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos had draped herself about his chair like tinsel. A small pot of tea-chai, from the smell of it-sat in front of him.

He was so small. So thin. The sight filled him with rage and his fingers curled into fists. Nails biting red crescents into his palms. How he would have loved nothing more than to butcher those monsters where they stood. How dare they call a wizard a freak! How dare they force a child to live beneath the stairs! How dare they make him suffer! Harrison was _his_. His other half. His equal. The only living thing other than himself he ever stood a chance at genuinely caring for. But he’d forced himself not to draw his wand. To smile and remain level toned as the savages had insulted him and told him they’d be glad the boy was gone. If not for the damnable wards…

“Tom?” He blinked. Refocused. Harry had turned in his seat and was watching him with wary eyes. “You’re glaring.”

Still irritated, Tom forced his face to smooth over and his eyes to warm. Reaching out to run his fingers through wild raven hair, lightly scratching at his scalp with well kept nails and watching the child melt like a touch starved krupp. “My thoughts got away from me.” He soothed. “You’ve done nothing wrong.” Those words seemed to be a spell in and of themselves and Harry slumped forward. Tom allowed him a moment to breathe before correcting his posture at the table. “What do you think of the tea?”

The boy looked down at the all but empty cup beside his hand as if surprised to find it there. Then he smiled. “It’s really good.” Harry said. “The Dursley’s never would have allowed this in their house: too foreign and ‘freakish’.”

Tom growled and briefly dropped his chin atop the boy's head. Felt him stiffen again though whether from the noise or the action he couldn’t tell. “Anything you desire, Harrison, you need only say the word. It pleases me to make you happy.” Quickly moving on from the show of weakness Tom redirected his attention to the table. The post, clearly, had already arrived: in addition to his paper, there was a container of what he immediately recognized as nutrition potions, a small handful of letters and a long thin box. “Seems Narcissa’s potion master has sent along your most needed dose ahead of pay; her letter likely includes the invoices. But what’s this box then?” He picked it up and, after checking it over with a pass of his wand, opened the lid. Lifting the card inside to read it and shaking his head. “Clever, Lucius. My wand _is_ rather recognizable.”

Harry, who’d collected the other letters-from his friends, by the way they were addressed-looked up as he excavated a cane from the drifts of emerald silk inside the box. The top silver, and fashioned into the skull of a raven. Tom removed the ornament, revealing the hole at the bottom, and slotted his wand inside. The length of yew sheltered from sight once he’d returned it to his place.

“There’s one for you as well; an early birthday gift from the Malfoy vaults. All proper pureblood lords use them.” He set the box in front of him, careful not to upset his tea. The expectation was clear, and Harry reluctantly complied. Reaching into the box and pulling out another cane; almost as tall as he was, at that point, with a body of warm toned mahogany. The top was shaped into the golden head of a roaring dragon, encrusted with garnet and with rubies set into its eyes. Catching Harry’s frown, Tom chuckled. “Now, Harrison. You should be flattered. It’s a recognition of your nature: your serpent tongue and the element of your House.”

When Harry continued to stare at him blankly, Tom sighed. “What do you call a great snake that breathes fire?”

His green eyes widened. “Ron’s told me about dragons; his brother works in a preserve in Romania. He said they were impossible to tame, but-.”

“So is a basilisk.”

“Can we speak to dragons, Tom?”

The child looked so enraptured by the thought that Tom almost hated to break the truth to him. “No one has ever tried.” He went to take his seat at the opposite end of the table. “Dragons broke from the main line of the serpent’s tree long ago. The likelihood of being able to be comprehended by a dragon, let alone listened to, is too low to make approaching one anything close to worth the risk. Especially a Horntail: those nasty bastards can incinerate you at 17 yards; are considered the most dangerous dragons for very good reason.” He considered him a moment before finally picking up his paper. “Coincidentally it’s also the dragon I think you’d be, were you ever to suddenly discover yourself transfigured into one.”

Considering this was a younger version of Voldemort ‘if you were a dragon you’d be the most vicious kind’ was probably meant as a compliment. Harry sighed and made himself a plate before opening the first letter. Ron’s atrocious penmanship greeted him; the other boy excitedly telling him about Egypt and the tomb full of mutated skeletons his mother hadn't let Ginny into. A message conveyed on Fred and George’s behalf that they were glad he’d been taken by someone who wouldn’t put bars on his window. He promised to be back a few days before term resumed, and suggested they meet up then.

Hermione, it turned out, had gone to France. She congratulated Harry on his new living situation and promised that she, too, would be back a few days before recommencement.

“You’re frowning, my little Horntail.” The raven had to restrain the urge to roll his eyes. “Eat your food. And take your potion. What’s on your mind?”

Harry shifted in discomfort. “How did Gringotts go?”

“Swimmingly. Even fae rulers know better than to flippantly handle the affiliates of Death.” Tom said, watching him with those hawkish midnight eyes. “If you can't dodge my questions without making it painfully obvious, allow me to suggest you don't.”

The little raven swallowed hard. “My friends.”

“What of them?”

“They’re a muggle born. And a...blood traitor.”

“And how is that my concern, Little One?”

“You...don’t have a problem with them?”

“Magic is magic; as long as they value the great gift that they’ve been given your association with them is not my concern.” Tom flicked his paper straight, the pages letting out a sharp crackle that almost made Harry jump. “As for if you’re inquiring about whether or not they’re to my taste, friends aren’t in general. I’ve never cared for another human, before you. The other half of me. A very piece of my soul.” The pretty shade of red the boy turned was almost enough to curb the flare of anger at the unfortunate double meaning in that statement. “I told you I would let you choose, did I not? Allow you to do as you believe is right. At least so long as you do not stand in my way.” The revolution, by its very nature, would not be civilized. But that conversation was one which could be had when he was older. Better able to handle the reality and necessity of war. “Take your potion. Do not make me remind you again.”

Harry frowned and eyed the potion in distaste but he picked it up and pulled out the stopper with a loud pop. Downing it in one and proceeding to look shocked.

“This actually isn’t terrible.” He said. “I was worried it’d be like skele-gro.”

Tom has to check his own look of surprise. “Why were you ever given a potion like that?”

“Because our fraud of a defense professor vanished the bones in my arm.”

He stared at the bit for a moment and then, upon realizing he was serious, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“He also obliviated himself. By mistake.”

Before that moment Harry hadn’t thought it possible to look so unimpressed with hurting yourself. “If I hear anything remotely similar to that level of incompetence this year I will transfer you to Beauxbatons before Dumbledore can choke out sherbet lemon!”

“There are other magical schools?”

Tom stared at him again before he sighed and rose. “Library.” Was all he said as he swept past. The expectation he would be followed plain. Harry disentangled himself from the Runespoor and went after him so quickly he almost stumbled on the chair leg.

By the time he made it to the library Tom was holding a large leather bound tome and paging through it. The spill of sunlight from the window outlined his figure in gold. “Sit.” He indicates the leather couch just to his left. Harry lowered himself onto one of the cushions and watched, half wary, as his guardian approached. “Comparative to muggles, magical people are few in number but there are still enough of us that schools were founded throughout the world. Ilvermorny in America. Mahoutokoro in Japan. Castelobruxo in Brazil. But the ‘big three’ school of Europe are Hogwarts, here in Britain, which was meant to be grey but has since waivered to far grey-light, Beauxbatons, in France, which is light and Durmstrang, in the north, which is dark.” Tom passed him the book as he spoke, and pointed each of the schools out as they were named. “Those three school are, coincidentally, the ones who participated in the Triwizard Tournament. An event judged by the heads of the competing schools, each of which were allowed a single champion, that awarded the winner a cup, 1000 galleons and ‘eternal glory’. It was held three times before a nundu killed an eleven year old boy during one of the tasks and someone with just barely enough sense to spell IQ decided it was dangerous. It was indefinitely canceled in 1792.”

Harry picked at the corner of the book. Running his fingers along the feathered edge of uneven pages. “Why send me to Beauxbatons and not Durmstrang if Durmstrang is dark?”

“Because Durmstrang requires Dark Arts as a course.” Tom said. “Would you call yourself a dark wizard?” Harry shook his head and shuddered. “A Light wizard then?” He nodded. “Personally I believe you’re grey light, at the moment, but that doesn’t change the fact that Beauxbatons would be the better place for you. I want any changes in your core value to be your choice.”

Harry could feel a faint headache beginning to take root behind his eyes. “Tom, I don’t know what any of that means.”

“Core value is the term used to refer to a person's degree of lean towards dark or light magic.” Tom closed the book with a thud and propped him carefully against his side. “Most would tell you there are two types of wizard. But really there are five. Grey, who have a balance of both forces, Grey-Light and Grey-Dark, who each have a slight tilt in each direction, as well as the commonly touted Dark and Light. Most fall within the grey spectrum. Very few are true Light, like Dumbledore or true Dark like me.”

Harry couldn’t quite decide whether he was comfortable having Tom so close; arm draped around his shoulders and warmth penning him in. He smelled like peppermint, blood orange and fire whiskey. 

“Core values are determined partly by our natures and partly by our choices, though changes are usually small. A firmly light wizard for example could study the dark arts for years and never move beyond neutral. Some inheritances, though, can cause drastic changes. As can certain magical illnesses, according to some; hence the classification of werewolves as dark creatures.”

“What’s the difference?”

“The degree of ease with which certain spells can be cast.” Tom said. “It is emotion which feeds our magic, after all. Light spells rely on things like happiness and the want to protect. Dark spells on hatred, anger and the desire to hurt. Crucio, for example, the torture curse, is often times not as effective in the hands of an Auror as it would be in mine. Likewise, many dark wizards struggle with producing a patronus or performing healing magic.”

“Often.” Harry said. “But not always.”

“No.” Tom smiled at him, then. Showing off his sharp white teeth. “Not always. _My_ patronus doesn’t suffer.”

“What is a patronus?”

“A charm that some believe to be the pinnacle of light magic, requiring pure joy to power it.” Those long fingers ran through his hair again. The older wizard chuckled when he arched into the touch like a cat. “And a charm you shouldn’t need to know quite so young.”

“Is it something I’d learn at school?”

Tom shook his head. “More like something reserved for auror training. They need them to staff the wizarding prison: Azkaban. It’s horrifically advanced magic but it’s the only thing that keeps the dementors at bay.”

Again, those innocent green eyes turned up towards him again. “Dementors?”

The young Dark Lord didn’t immediately answer. His hand trailing down his neck and over his back. “Terrible things. The enemy of death; they cannot die and steal souls to feed themselves. They live off despair and misery and the ministry uses them like attack dogs.”

The boy grimaced. Nose wrinkling charmingly and almost unseating his glasses. “How does the patronus keep them at bay?”

“By summoning a spirit guardian.”

“What does it look like?”

“That depends on the caster.” Tom said. “Drawing on their innermost traits-often but not always the same traits that determine their animagus form-or, some claim, upon those of their ‘eternal love one’” He tried, and no doubt failed, to keep a grimace off his face. “Why are you smirking?”

“Yours is some sort of snake, isn’t it?”

“The king of serpents, thank you.” Tom huffed, though his voice lacked even the faintest trace of bite. “You, child, are going to drive me to distraction.” 

Harry hid a grin against the young Dark Lord’s ribs.


	7. Opening Move

A month had passed, or near about as much, and potion regiment and surprise visits by Narcissa aside, Harry had no contest in saying this was the best summer he’d ever had. He’d been miserable at the Dursley’s, treated little better than the house elves of the Malfoys, and where he’d loved the burrow with its strange charm and cozy little rooms; sometimes it had just been far too loud, far too crowded, and offered him no means of escape. Slytherin Manor, by contrast, was a paradise where he was free of chores and allowed to do as he saw fit under Tom’s ever watchful gaze; the older man, though never anything less than swamped with work-Voldemort apparently had left him a lot to undo-always seemed to know when Harry had in mind to do something that needed his presence to ensure his safety in the event something went wrong. No doubt aided by the runespoor who seemed to have made it her duty to accompany him everywhere.

Tom would always make time to eat at least one meal with him, and give him at least one hour long lesson a day about some piece of history or magical theory or dark creature. Offering praise and soft touches as he did so and purring as he went more and more boneless against him. The night prior they’d lain in the very same patch of grass that he was splayed on now, listening to the near distant crash of waves and the young Dark Lord's steady pulse as he’d told him muggle myths about the stars. 

He remembered dosing to the steady rumble of Tom’s voice as he’d explained the twelve labors of Hercules, head on his chest and arms around his waist. Remembered vaguely being lifted, being carried, drowning in citrus and peppermint, but not being put down.

Harry had woken up in bed with Helios beside him and the sheets pulled up to his chin. Said snake was currently curled atop his stomach and both of them were sunning themselves in the mid-morning light. Harry opened his eyes when a shadow fell over him and found Tom standing there, a faint smile twisting his mouth. “Digesting your breakfast?”

“Don’t need the sun for that.” He grumbled. “S’warm though.”

“Indeed.” The biggest difference Harry had found between this Tom and the one who’d attacked him in the chamber was that while the horcrux had cloaked himself in an aura of malice his carer instead seemed perpetually-and somewhat vindictively-amused by everything around him. Finding the world laughable, as if he were so many leaps and bounds ahead that nothing could ever truly be a threat. Mean spirited as it likely was below the surface, in most cases, Harry preferred this because it kept his eyes warm and hemmed by smile lines. “Up with you, Little One. We’re going to the Ministry: I’ve papers to file.”

“The Ministry for Magic?” Harry had heard of the place before a few times, most notably from Hagrid, but had never been there. Had never really wanted to go, as government buildings-from what little he’d managed to gather of such things while he’d been trapped with the Durselys-were never fun and he’d come to assume that the only reason he’d ever find himself there was if he’d done something wrong. “All the way back in London?”

Tom nodded, that slight smirk never fading from his face as he reached down to help him up. His large gloved hand enclosing him entirely and lifting him bodily back onto his feet. “Yes, Little One. The Ministry for Magic, all the way back in London.”

Harry ignored the way his cheeks warmed; how easily Tom could make him feel foolish, even when he wasn’t purposely attempting to do so. “How are we going to get there? The floo?”

“No. No. The very last thing we need is for you to fall on your face on a tiled floor, in the open in front of who knows how many people. Not only will it be terrible for your image, but it might break your glasses and more importantly you might get hurt.” Something dangerous flashed in Tom’s eyes at the prospect. “We’ll apparate.”

The second time he’d heard the older man use that term. The first having been just before he’d talked him through the prospect of summoning the Knightbus. Speaking of the Knightbus, at least they wouldn’t be using the brilliantly purple magical menace to get where they were going because he didn’t think he could handle another ride. Especially not one that would be that much longer. “What’s apparating?”

“Instant travel from one place to another, envisioned in your mind, without the need to traverse the distance in between.” Tom informed him. “Hold onto me as tightly as you can and you’ll be fine; you won’t have to worry about splinching until you’re apparating on your own.”

“Splinching?”

“If a witch or wizard apparates of disapparates unsuccessfully, or loses concentration on where it is they want to go, they can leave pieces of themselves behind. Anything from a scrap of clothing, a bit of hair, entire limbs. It can kill you. Don’t get splinched.” The young Dark Lord offered him his hand, but Harry wrapped his arms around his middle instead and pressed his face into his chest. Glasses off setting on his nose and the dark fabric of the older man’s robe blocking out the light. Tom’s chest expanded with a sigh but he made no effort to peel him off, simply wrapping one arm around his shoulders and twisting on the spot. Darkness closed in around him. An invisible force pressing down on him in all directions, closing around his breast like iron bands; he couldn’t breathe. His eyes were being crushed back into his skull. His bones were collapsing into each other. Harry clung desperately to Tom, who was at once all around him and nowhere at all; fingers scrabbling against fine cloth and cool metal and the warm flesh underneath. And then it was over. The young Dark Lord’s arm keeping him upright and pressed to him. The comforting scent of the man overwhelming him as he gasped for air and pressed his face closer.

Large hands gently squeezed his shoulders and nudged him forwards. Once. Twice. A firm touch sliding down his back as he was tugged along with the older wizard like an uprooted plant with the rushing tide of a river. Harry blinked hard against the sudden bright light and reached up to resituate his glasses. Looking around once his vision had refocused. They’d ended up in a cavernous room, covered in reflective black tiles and crowded with witches and wizards in robes and clothing of all colors; holding things like papers and writhing plants and cardboard boxes belching smoke. Not far away, along the wall, stood a line of golden fireplaces. 

“Come along.” Tom led the way across the room, shoulders back and head held high. Entirely at home among the rush and flow of others; standing out from the crowd without looking for a moment as if he didn’t belong there. Harry hurriedly smoothed down his bangs in an effort to cover his scar and rushed after him, catching up with his guardian where he’d stopped to wait beside a massive fountain. Huge and crafted entirely from gold, a witch and wizard stood atop a plinth in the middle of a pool of water; the bottom a drift with the glitter of coins. Surrounding them, looking up with expressions of unrealistic adoration on their faces, were a centaur, a goblin and a house elf. The plaque at its base read _the Fountain of Magical Brethren._ “Look, Harry. This is how the Light, and the system they prop up, sees ‘equality’ in our world. Witch subservient to wizard; creature subservient to man; magic subservient to that which forces us to hide. Magic is might; human or otherwise. This, nothing but a tarnished lie.” Blue eyes gazed into the pool with marked disdain. “How quaint that the proceeds go to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.”

Harry had met a centaur; Firenze. He hadn’t been unpleasant, mind. Had saved his life from Quirrel-attached-Voldemort when he’d stumbled across him drinking unicorn blood. But Harry had a hard time believing he, or any other of his kind, would ever look at a wizard like that. And a Goblin? Never.

“The lifts are this way. Let’s not waste any more time.” Slytherin crest flashing in the light, Tom turned in a whirl of dark robes and resumed walking. Breezing past a stand marked ‘visitor registry’ and flicking a discrete Confundus Charm at the man behind it without slowing his pace for a moment. Leading him over to the gilded grate of a lift, then ushering him inside. Keeping him pressed against his side when the lift turned out to be crowded. The little car rattling rather raucously as they descended down to the second floor, which a cool female voice announced as the ‘Department of Magical Law Enforcement’ including the Auror Headquarters, the Improper Use of Magic Office and the Wizengamot Administration Services, which turned out to be where they were headed. 

The office they ultimately ended up entering was approximately the size of a Hogwarts broom closet, perhaps just slightly bigger than the cupboard under the stairs where he’d lived for most of the first eleven years of his life, and shelves bursting with papers of all sorts rose up and up and up around him until they disappeared into the darkness overhead. He finally trotted to a stop beside Tom when he reached the desk at the far end, where a witch who looked to be part Goblin-much like Flitwick was-sat. 

“Hello Mrs.”He never took his hands fully off of Harry as he spoke.   
Touching his shoulder or his back or stroking his hair. The young Dark Lord had been doing that more and more often of late; pushing, little by little, at the boundaries of just how tolerant the raven was of small affections he’d never been afforded before whenever he could find the occasion and incredibly pleased when he discovered Harry’s propensity to suck up everything he had to give like parched soil. “My name is Keres Alexos. I’ve come to file my Lordship papers, to bring the seats of my line back into action. And to claim those of my charge until he is of age.”

“Of course, Sir. May I see your papers?” The moment it took for Tom to pull the little stack of papers from his robes and pass them over the top of the desk was the only instance over the entire course of the conversation where the young Dark Lord wasn’t touching him in some way. “The Houses of Peverell and Gaunt, correct?”

“Yes.”

She didn’t show any sign of what surprise she might have felt. “May I see your Lordship rings?”

“I won’t be removing them, if that’s acceptable.”

“Removing them won’t be necessary.” Tom removed his well fitted gloves and splayed both hands atop the desk. Setting both his Slytherin and Peverell Lordship rings on full display. The woman leaned forward over them. Examined the crests they sported. Tapping them gently with the tip of her wand. Finally satisfied, the woman sat back. “Alright, Lord Gaunt-Peverell. May I see your...son’s-?”

“Soulbound’s.”

“May I see his heir ring?”

Harry felt his eyes widen in panic. He was wearing the Potter heir ring, like Tom had suggested would be best. And all of his best efforts at not being noticed, and subsequently mobbed, would be for nothing.

“On the condition word of his presence here not leaving this room.” Tom said. “He’s understandably reticent of finding himself surrounded by reporters and I would prefer neither of us wind up plastered across the front page of the _Prophet_ quite yet.”

“Of course Sir.” She said. “This office deals strictly in confidential information. We’ve no time for reporters and their nonsense.”

Harry reluctantly extended his hand to place it on the desk. The ruby attached to the band glittered. “Ah, yes. The Potter seats. And the Black seats as well, I recall.” She didn’t ask to see his scar. That alone made Harry decide he liked her. “Very well, Lord Gaunt-Peverell. All that’s left to do before you’re recognized as the holder of your seats and the regent of those beholden to your charge is to sign a few papers.”

Tom was passed a short stack of parchment and a black quill which produced its own deep scarlet ink and left the back of his hand slightly red. He slipped his glove back on as she turned to file them and swept him out of the room, frowning. 

“I do despise blood quills.” Blood quills? So that hadn’t been ink at all but… “nothing for it though. Binding legal documents require blood to be enforced. And I don’t know if you’ve ever tried writing with a knife, Harrison, but it’s a utensil better suited to flesh than parchment.”

Tom squeezed his shoulder when he shuddered and pushed him gently into the lift. Empty, this time, but for a flock of the purple memos used to carry messages bobbing around the light fixture above them. Even still, the older wizard kept him close at his side. 

They’d barely crossed over the threshold of the atrium when Tom all but tread atop the Malfoy Lord's feet.

“Ah, Lucius. Just the man I had hoped to see.” Harry didn’t share the sentiment in the least. Doubtlessly aware, Tom drew a galleon from his clothing and pressed the coin into his hand. “Why don’t you toss that into the fountain, Little One? Donate to the ill.”

Harry would have taken just about any excuse to get away from the Malfoy Lord at that point and took the coin with a mumbled thanks. Leaving Tom where he stood and making his way through the forest of bystanders all of whom were far taller than him. Merlin, a growth spurt couldn’t come soon enough, though he doubted he’d ever be as tall as Tom. Reaching the fountain at last after practically having to crawl over top of a cart of boxes containing magic only knew what, the little raven straightened his robes and made sure that his hair was still covering his scar and then approached the edge of the pool. Looking down into the water and the carpet of coins glittering beneath. Then up at the statues assembled atop the pulpit; at the house elf shooting streams of water from its ears. He thought of Dobby and shuddered. 

“It is a happy thing to believe.” A familiar voice said. “But, alas, it is a lie. Wizard kind have mistreated our fellow magicals for too long and I fear we’ll soon reap what has been sowed.”

Harry turned as the older man stepped up beside him, grinning. “Sir.”

“It’s good to see you well, Harry, my boy. Though I must say I’m surprised to find you here.” Dumbledore said. 

“My cousin needed to file some papers.” 

“Whatever would young Mr. Dursley need to file papers here for?”

Harry shifted in discomfort. Tom hadn’t given him any sort of cover story beyond a false name, hadn’t stopped him from making mention of his presence in his letters, so he assumed it would be ok to dissuade the Headmaster of the belief that the Dursleys had brought him there. “Oh, no. Not Dudley Sir. Keres.” He said. “He met me at the train station. Got permission from my aunt and uncle to adopt me.”

At that Dumbledore gained a very serious expression behind his half moon glasses. “Harry I know that you have differences with your relatives but for your own safety-.”

“I am perfectly capable of defending my soulbound. And don’t particularly appreciate the implication that I can’t being made by someone I’ve never met.” Harry could do little more than watch as Tom appeared from the crowd like a wraith. Ignoring the expression of abject horror on the other man’s face in favor of sneering at his robe. “Why are you dressed like a box of sherbet lemons?”

Harry made a failed effort to smother a snort as Tom appeared to determine Dumbledore uninteresting and turned his attention to him. “Professor of yours?”

“That’s the Headmaster. Dumbledore.”

Tom’s mouth twisted into a Narcissa-like dissatisfaction. “I see. The one who hired the doddering idiot that vanished all the bones in your arm.” Blue eyes fell on the coin clutched in his hand and softened. “I do believe I gave you that to put in the fountain, Harry.”

Harry glanced down at the coin still clutched in his hand in mild surprise. “Forgot I had it.”

“Well,” Tom drew out another coin, ignoring Dumbledore completely now, and held it up for him to see. “Let’s both put one in then. Make a wish.” The coins hit the water with two soft plunks. Tom turned expectant eyes on him. “Well?” 

“If I tell you it won’t come true.”

“Smart little thing.” He tsked. Lifting him, without warning up onto the fountain’s lip. “Back talkers get keelhauled up in the north. Time for a swim, my little Horntail.”

Dumbledore looked on in a mix of wariness and bewilderment as Harry, who very much did not want to end up in the fountain, wrapped all four limbs around the older wizard. “If I’m going in, so are you, Keres!”

“That’s not really a threat, Harrison. Snakes are fond of water.”

“Then you swim. I’ll stay here.”

“I’m not nearly short enough to swim in that fountain.” Harry made a disgruntled noise and smacked him on the shoulder with all the force he could muster . Which, at that angle, wasn’t a lot. “I, if you must know, wished for academic prowess on your behalf.”

“Gee, thanks Keres.”

At this, Tom aimed a dry look at Dumbledore and made a show of sighing “What is it with children these days?” Which wrenched a reluctant chuckle from the man.

At last the Headmaster stepped forward and extended a hand. “Albus Perceval Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.”

Tom appeared to be resisting the urge to say ‘excuse you’ and screwed a pleasant neutrality onto his face as he took the offered hand. “Keres Alexos.”

“Alexos doesn’t sound like any line I can recall having any rights to a Founder’s ring.”

“My full name is a bit of a mouthful. Alexos is my middle name.” Tom said, primly. “Surely you of all people aren’t going to go after me for only using a portion when you do the same.”

“Shortening one’s name is not the same as using an alias, Tom.”

The young Dark Lord was surprisingly good at playing innocent. “I’m afraid you’ve mistaken me for someone else.” He said. “Let’s go home, Harrison. I’d like to finish off my paperwork tonight so that I can be free for your birthday tomorrow.”

As he slid down off the side of the fountain and moved to follow, Dumbledore reached out a hand to stop him. “Are you alright, Harry?”

“Brilliant.” He said. “He may look like Tom-he scared me when he first showed up-but Riddle set a basilisk on me. The worst thing Keres has done is make me eat my vegetables on threat of rescinding my Treacle privileges.” It wasn’t untrue. Tom had yet to do anything more harmful than glare at him when he did something particularly foolish or annoying, and Harry was now nearly convinced he never would. “Have a good summer, Sir.”

Dumbledore’s response of “you as well, my dear boy” was almost lost in the crowd as he hurried to catch up with Tom.

“Can we Floo back?” those were words he’d never expected himself to ever say.

Tom, clearly thinking along the same lines, covered a snort with a quiet cough and nodded. “ **_:For playing along with me so well, yes. We may. Let’s head for the fireplaces, Harrison:._ **”

Leave it to a Slytherin to be able to slip in and out of character on a dime. **_“:I don’t think it fooled him.:”_ **

“ **_:I don’t think it did either, Little One. Small surprise. I’ve never fooled him:._ ** ” The young Dark Lord guided him back towards the glittering golden wall of hearths. Tongues of green flames spitting rounded emerald embers onto the floor. “ **_:But fooling him wasn’t the point.:”_ **

**_“:It wasn’t?:_ **” then why bother?

 **_“So clear why you’re in Gryffindor.”_ ** Tom said. **_“:Consider where we are. And how many people are around us. There are too many ears here to risk acquiescing in any way to such sensitive information.:”_ ** Well, that made an embarrassing amount of sense. He felt his face heating. Tom lifted down the little pot of Floo powder and offered it to him. “Remember, just a pinch and a deep breath before you step in. On your way now.”

Harry took a pinch of the floo powder, stepped into the flames and announced “Slytherin manor” as clearly and as quietly as he could to avoid drawing attention. Managing to land on his feet, though not stay on them, and ending up on all fours on the rug.

“ **_:At least that landing didn’t seem quite so painful.:”_ ** Helios slid across the floor towards him and began the process of slithering up his arm. Making himself at home astride his shoulders. “ **_:Where did you go? I was worried when you and the other speaker whirl-vanished. You smell like other humans.:”_ **

**_“:We were at the Ministry, Helios.:”_ ** Tom’s robes rippled around him as he stepped over the grating of the hearth. **_“:Our business there has been successfully concluded.:”_ **Switching back to English and shaking soot from his clothing, he said “I’ll be spending the rest of the night in my office, and won’t be having dinner. You’re free for the night to do as you please, though I request you hand over your wand now.”

“My wand?” Harry felt the hairs along his arms rise as he pushed himself back onto his feet. “Why?”

“Because I need it for your gift, Little One. Surely you must know by now that my having a wand while you don’t, or you having a wand while I don’t wouldn’t make a difference were I possessed of a desire to do you harm.” Tom held out his hand. “Wand.” The little raven sighed but pulled the length of holly wood from where he’d shoved it into his back pocket-ignoring the young Dark Lord’s scathing look for his chosen place of storage-and handed it over. “A wand sheath, I think, is also in order as you can hardly carry your cane around at school.”

A moment later Harry had been left alone in the room, but for the snake. “ **_:Well:_ ** ,” the soon to be third year sighed, “: **_What do you say that we go back outside and enjoy the sunlight while it’s still around?:”_ **

The serpent’s tongue flicked out, dark eyes glittering. “ **_:That sounds like a marvelous idea.:”_ **


	8. Heir Apparent

_The castle was nothing like Hogwarts; its cavernous halls so tall that the ceilings weren’t visible and dark walls encrusted with gemstones and veined in gold and silver. The air was dark and stagnant, smelling of rock and standing water, and so cold that his breath rose before his eyes in silver puffs to haze the smudged lenses of his glasses. Harry paused for long enough to make an effort at wiping them off on his shirt, shivered and kept going. His voice echoed all around him when he called “Tom!” only to receive no response and be forced to listen as the word faded into silence. Shivering again, he wrapped his arms around himself. Cringing when his toe caught on the glass-smooth tile with a far-too-loud scuff sound. He half expected something to come flying out of the dark and silent stillness at any moment, but nothing did._

_Ahead of him rose a set of double doors, cold hammered from a metal he didn’t recognize and etched with images that hurt his head to look at. They were so cold to the touch that when he heaved them open they burned his hands. The hinges moved with the wail of a dying man. On the other side he found a room as big as the great hall but was absent of the long tables which seated the students and staff. There were no House banners hung from the ceiling; in their place were dangling sheets of burial shawls, moth eaten and worn. Tinging the space with the faint metallic scent of blood and the musty foulness of an open grave. At the head of the room a massive black dog with yellow eyes lounged at the foot of an empty throne of bone and gorestained blades, and its occupant rose to stand before him._

_Death looked nothing like the form that he’d shown Tom. Now he wore Harry’s own face and grinned with a mouth full of teeth like broken glass. Eyes pits of fire the green of the Killing Curse, of the skin of the basilisk he’d slain down in the Chamber of Secrets underneath the school. The cloak of raven feathers wrapped around his shoulders rustled as he moved and the golden wristbands the eternal wore reflected the torchlight as he pressed something into his hands. A pomegranate, whole and heartsblood red, carrying the weight of a burden beyond Human comprehension and colder than fresh winter’s snow. He leaned forwards, lips moving against the shell of his ear as he hissed two words in a language Harry didn’t understand._

_“Fysikos klironomos.”_

Harry jerked awake, shivering beneath the thick covers of his bed in Slytherin manor. The light of early morning flooding into the room and splattering fractals of brilliant white across the wooden floor. Gooseflesh mottled his arms and chest and every hair on his body was standing on end, but when Harry looked down at his hands they showed no signs of the cold-burns that the doors had given him. _It was a dream._ A figment of his mind and, hopefully, nothing more.Not real. Not like what Tom had had to go through to land him there, now, with him. Letting out a shaking breath, the little raven ran his fingers through his already wild hair, messing it up even further, and then rubbed at his arms until he succeeded in chasing the goosebumps away. Restoring some of the warmth which should have been there to his body. _Just a dream._

Somehow, Harry didn’t feel as convinced of that much as he would have liked. But he was saved from having to focus too intensely on the reality of it all when Helios slithered up to him. “ **:Happy hatch day, speaker!:”**

The strange vernacular was enough to pull a smile onto his face. Harry reached out a hand to lift the snake up onto his shoulders and rose from his bed. Trading his sleeping clothes for a robe in Gryffindor colors: deep scarlet and gold. “ **_:Thank you, Helios.:”_ ** He ran his fingers along his smooth black scales. Drawing a pleased hiss from his companion. “ **_:I’m going to guess that Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos are with Tom?”_ **

Helios’ tongue flicked out, tapping against the curve of his jaw. Feather light and slightly cold. “: **_You’ll find your nest guardian in the feeding room.:”_ ** There was a brief pause as Harry began making his way down the hallway outside in which the snake seemed to be considering something. “: **_You smell different.:”_ **

**_“:How so?:”_ **

**_“:Hard to explain.:”_ ** Helios hissed. “: **_You magic is different. It does not taste the same. It tastes slightly of dead things.:”_ **

Harry stopped cold in his tracks. The icy sensation returning, coiled tight around his heart. Tom, seated in his usual place at the table-now scattered with a number of packages and that morning’s round of potions as well as the food-folded _The Daily Prophet_ and looked over at him.

“Happy birthday, Little One.” The young Dark Lord said. Dark blue gaze taking in the sight of his expression. “Is something the matter, Harry?”

“Weird dream.” He shuffled over to his seat at the table. The chair creaked as he sat down, quietly thanking Kipsy when she popped in with his tea. The comforting scent of chai wafting up towards him. “At least I thought it was a dream until Helios said my magic tastes of death.”

“Oh?” he said. “You visited him last night, then?”

Harry nodded. Swallowed hard. “He looked like me.”

“Did he say anything?”

“Not in English.”

“Can you repeat it?”

The little raven doubted that he’d manage not to mangle it. “Fysikos klironomos.”

Tom sat back in his chair with a sigh and the gentle creak of wood. “Of course it would be 13. Three is death’s number.” The young Dark Lord lifted the butter knife beside him and began to idly toy with it. Spinning the utensil between his long fingers. “I believe that you’ve received the seeds of your inheritance.”

Harry’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“How much do you know about the Eternals?”

“That Death is one of them and that he had a problem with you because of what you did with your Diary. To try and cheat him.” Beyond that, Harry had no idea.

“There are four Eternals; the physical embodiments of the primordial forces of Time, Fate, Magic and Death. Immortal. All powerful, or near about. The closest thing that our world knows to Gods. And of them Death is the oldest, and the only one prone to...passing the torch, so to speak. From time to time.” He said. “Choosing an extraordinary wizard to transfer his power to; laying the seeds at 13 so that they can come to full bloom by their majority. Once they die they embody Death itself, a rebirth of sorts for the entity, but while they live they’re referred to by the-rather incorrect-title ‘Master of Death’.”

“Is that what he said, then? Master of Death?”

“No, Harrison. Fysikos klironomos means ‘heir apparent’.” Dark amusment flickered across his face again as he set the knife down with a sharp click. Harry couldn’t hold back a flinch. “And I suppose I should be relieved to find myself not reduced to a mere servant, but elevated instead of an Eternal’s consort.”

Harry tried to drink his tea but his hands were shaking too badly. He set the cup down again to stop himself spilling the hot liquid down his front. When he spoke, his voice was so strained and quiet that he almost couldn’t hear it himself. “I don’t want this.”

“I know you don’t. But we’re not like the others, Harry. The weak. The blind. No. We’re powerful, you and I. Powerful enough to attract the notice of the divine.” Tom prodded at his own tea but made no move to drink it. “You and I, we don’t get to choose. We carve the way so others can. But enough of that.” Pulling his wand from the cane it was hidden in, Tom levitated what looked like a wand box over to him. “Open your gifts. And then eat and take your potion.”

Reluctantly, mood still considerably dampened by the revelation he’d just received, Harry took the box and opened it. Discovering his own wand tucked into a sheath of dragon hide. “‘Release’ in Parseltongue will prompt the sheath to release your wand when you have need of it. Attach that to your wrist while you’re in a position where your cane would be untoward to carry in order to prevent yourself from accidentally hexing your own arse off.” In spite of himself, Harry couldn’t suppress a smile at the flippant wording the young Dark Lord used. “But your real present is the fact that I removed the Trace from your wand. You’ve free reign to use magic as you wish, so long as you don’t try any new spells while I’m not present and don’t whip it out around someone who’d be inclined to report the matter. Tampering like that is, after all, a highly illegal offense which would earn one half a century in Azkaban if caught.”

“I didn’t even know doing so was possible.” Harry said.

“Most Dark aligned Pureblood families do it for their children once they’ve reached the age of 15.” Tom fixed him in a stern gaze over top of his fork. “Don’t make me regret it, my Little Horntail.”

The little raven nodded and set the sheath and wand down on the tabletop beside him. A triple-toned hiss from beneath the table was all the warning he had before the Runespoor appeared. Pulling her long striped body up the back of Harry’s chair as Tom levitated the remaining packages into a neat pyramid in front of him.

“: **_Hello Clothos, Lachesis and Atropos.:”_ **

**_“:Hello, Harry.:”_ ** Clotho said.

“: **_Happy hatch day!:”_ ** Lachesis rested her head on his shoulder, ignoring Helios’ territorial hiss from where he’d coiled about his throat like an obsidian choker.

Atropos displayed her venomous fangs and remained silent.

“The one you just picked up is from that Weasley friend of yours, I believe.” Tom watched Harry unwrap the object: a shiny glass sneakoscope which immediately began to spin. “Congratulations, Harry. You’ve been gifted an annoying noise maker that will never stop spinning until you’ve taken it out of this house.”

At least now he knew the answer to the question ‘what would happen if you locked a sneakoscope and the darkest wizard of his age in the same room together’.

“That one is from your other friend. The muggleborn.”

From the shape of it Harry worried that his bushy haired friend’s gift would be a book. From the weight, he feared it might be more than one. But when he opened it, the sight of the high quality broom repair kit brought a smile to his face. When he chanced a glance at his guardian, Tom appeared approving.

“That’s one of the best brands in France.” He said. “A worthy gift.”

As much as Harry doubted Hermione would have been pleased to be told she’d won points with the Dark Lord, it still made him smile wider.

“Looks like you’ve one more.” Tom indicated the final gift which, Harry noted, appeared to be from Hagrid though it in no way resembled the half-giant’s usual packets of rock cakes. “Go on, then.”

This, the little raven noted in surprise, _was_ a book. A beautiful emerald book with a cover leafed in the golden outlines of creatures bearing the title _The Monster Book of Monsters._ Curious, he moved to open the book only to yelp in surprise and drop it when it bit him. Tom was instantly on his feet, furious at the sight of blood, but before either wizard could react the thing lunged for the older man’s feet. Tom swore and kicked it. Missed. Then leapt up onto his recently vacated chair to avoid being bitten in the shin. Using his raised position to pounce atop the evil text like a mountain lion only for the cover to clamp shut around his hand.

“Buggery!” He pointed his wand at the cover and snarled “stupefy!” Wrenching his hand free as soon as the book went still and summoning a rope to bind it shut. “Who the _bleeding hell_ sent a _dark book_ to a _student_?!”

The younger wizard pulled his bloodied finger from his mouth and, hesitantly, admitted, “Hagrid.”

Tom growled low in his throat and bound his hand in gauze with the flick of his wand. “Werewolf cubs under his bed in the dorms.” Gently, despite his irritation, the brunet took hold of Harry’s wounded hand and cleaned it out before he bound it as well. “Steam Trunks filled with giant spiders. Of _course_ it was Hagrid! Who else would it be?”

“Says the one who kept a 60 foot long hyper venomous will-kill-you-if-you-look-straight-at-it snake under the school.”

“...Your point.”

“I think the baby dragon, the three headed dog and the giant spiders were a little less dangerous than the basilisk, Tom.”

“I knew the Acromantula escaped into the Forbidden Forest but I hadn’t known there’d come to be populations of Cereberi or Welsh Greens on the grounds.”

Ignoring the dangerous tone in the other man’s voice, Harry supplied flatly “Norbert is a Norwegian Ridgeback, actually.”

One of the small muscles in Tom’s face had started to twitch. “If one of his beasts so much as bruises you, I will do _so much worse_ than have him expelled from the grounds. I don’t care if you consider him a friend: blood status is no concern of mine but your safety is another matter!” He thrust the book, bound and still stunned, into his hands. “Eat. Take your potions. Once you’ve finished, put this somewhere it won’t cause trouble and don’t attempt to read from that again until we’ve worked out how to do so without losing our fingers.”

“Yes, Sir.”

Despite the unyielding severity of his tone and the chill of his eyes once the book was no longer in his grip and Tom dragged the fingers of his bound hand through his wild black hair. Nails just barely scratching along his scalp in a way which made him weak in the knees. “I’ve something to look into that’s come up in the day’s issue of _The Prophet_. It’s possible that I may need to go...out. After dinner. To get to the bottom of a curious little matter that’s...shall we say...serious.”

Harry had the sneaking suspicion, from the angle of the curve of his smirk, that there was something about the particular wording of that statement flying low over his head. “Er...ok.”

Tom stroked his hair again, pushed the potion a bit closer to his plate and then collected the Runespoor before exiting the room.

“ **_:You’ve left your hatchling confused, Master.:_ ** ” Atropos said. “: **_You’re planning a hunt?:”_ **

Tom hummed as he pushed open the door of his office. Dropping _The Daily Prophet_ onto the top of the desk, the bold black headline of _Azkaban Breakout_ blaring out from the front page. “: **_A hunt indeed. Though I’m not quite certain if I’ll bite with venom once I’ve found my mark.:”_ ** He said. “: **_According to this rag, Harry’s parents were betrayed to my counterpart by their secret keeper. His Godfather. But he wasn’t given a trial. Just sentenced to Azkaban without due course of justice. It rings off to me. And, a few days ago it seems-though the ponce seated in the chair of Minister for Magic didn’t see fit to announce it until now-he pulled off the impossible and escaped.:”_ **

**_“:You plan to seek him out.:”_ **

**_“:If he is innocent, then returning a living member of his family will only be good for Harry.:”_ ** The thought made flames spark to life in his chest but he fought down the urge to curse his desk into oblivion. Harry didn’t _need_ anyone except for him. Harry never _would_ need anyone except for him. But it would make him happy. And it was better that he be the provider of that happiness, and thus control the matter, than have it wander unattended into his life. “ **_:If he isn’t, then I’ll cut him down to finish the job. Either way, dead or alive, tonight I’m going to be having a little chat with Sirius Orion Black.:”_ **


	9. The Basilisk and the Grim

Sirius had met the Muggles that were Lily’s sister and husband before-once, and only briefly, at the wedding of the fiery hair witch to the man who’d been more of a brother to him than Regulus ever was, and had pranked the big man enough to send him into a frothing rage-and thought that the incredibly dull place known as ‘Privat Drive’ with its tiny yards and manicured gardens and identical white houses suited their personalities perfectly: drab, dry and unpleasant. Scenting the air, ears alert for the pop of apparition, the grim-like dog shook out its black coat and moved across the street towards Number 4. Shifting into a man halfway up the walk and eyeing the bars attached to the second floor window warily, he raised his fist to knock.

Heavy footsteps plodded towards the door, accompanied by complaints about who would be coming to call at such an hour, before it swung inwards to reveal the walrus-like face of Vernon. Who made an immediate attempt to slam the door, only for Sirius to shove his foot into the door and his wand into his face. Watching him go instantly cross eyed in an effort to keep the point in sight.

“Evening, Vernon. Been a while since you and I have last seen each other.” He didn’t make much of an effort to conceal the growl in his voice. “Where’s my Godson? I’ll be taking him, if you don’t mind, and we’ll both be out of your hair.”

“If you came for that awful boy than you’re a good few weeks too late, Black.” That voice belonged to Petunia; the astringent tone immediately recognizable even while the woman herself remained concealed behind her massive husband. “One of your kind already came to take him off us. A well put together young man, though he dressed for 50 years ago. I almost didn’t believe he was one of you, until he shoved a white wand into my darling Diddy Duddy Dums’ face when he called him a freak.”

Sirius had thought, after so long in the company of Dementors, that he knew what fear was. But never before had his blood run that cold. “W-White-?” There was only one wizard he knew who had a white wand. Bone white, and made of yew: a poisonous wood as wicked as its ophidian wielder. But that wasn’t possible. If it had been him then, surely, these Muggles would no longer be alive. Besides, Voldemort was gone. Vanquished. Destroyed. “What color were his eyes?”

The unmistakable crack of apparition shattered the silence of the street and Sirius whirled around. Wand raised. Freezing where he stood at the sight which met him: a hooded figure, swathed in black. Impossibly tall. Glowing eyes, scarlet and slitted like a snake’s, glared out from beneath the shadowed cowl. He’d been an Auror. A member of the Order of the Phoenix. He knew what Voldemort looked like and there was no mistaking who stood before him now. Dark amusement gleamed in his hellfire eyes as the Dursleys retreated into the house with yips of alarm. As if wood and stone and mortar would ever be enough to defend them against a monster like that. But the Dark Lord appeared disinterested in them and their surroundings. That awful gaze pinned on him. And Sirius could tell, from the way his skin was crawling, that beneath that hood the bastard was _grinning._

“Come then, Black.” He hissed; a reedy susurrus that put frost on the surrounding pavement. “If you dare.” And, before his eyes, his form rippled and shifted into that of a raven. The accursed bird taking wing with a challenging caw.

Half-blind with rage, Sirius let out a bellowing roar and sprang forward onto all fours. Paws struck hard against cement as he took off on the monster’s tail. The Dark wizard never left his range of sight though Sirius didn’t doubt he easily could have had he felt the need to. The raven lead him down a handful of blocks and to a Muggle playground where its tiny form disappeared among the clutter of equipment. Wood chips scattered about his paws. Impossibly loud as they clattered away.The only sound aside from the wind the huff of his breaths as his gaze darted around. Straining in the dark but seeing nothing. Behind him, the carousel creaked into motion. He spun to face it. Hackles up. Teeth bared. Nothing was there.

A spell collided with his flank. Fire tore through him as he was forced back into the form of a man.Nearly toppling forward onto his face as he scrambled to pick up his wand and turn only to find himself instantly disarmed. Forced to his knees and bound in chains of shadow.

“Now that I have you properly restrained, perhaps you’ll be more cooperative.” That was not the voice of Voldemort; not the voice he’d heard just minutes before out front of Number 4. Too low and smooth and _normal_ to possibly belong to an abomination like the self-made Dark Lord. Yet it issued from the cloaked figure which had materialized before him. “I was polite with the Muggles, Black, but there are no wards to run afoul of here. Do keep that in mind should you decide to test my patience.” He’d stopped, now, just in front of him. Towering, yet no more now than any normal man would have compared to his bowed position. Neither thin nor skeletal beneath the robes he wore, like he should have been. Like the last time he’d seen the beast. “I know you saw the bars that filth installed on his windows. But did you know that, before he began attending Hogwarts, he was made to live in the cupboard under the stairs? To work for them. As if he were a mere servant and not something so much greater.”

A cupboard? They’d kept his Godson in a bloody _cupboard_? And Dumbledore had allowed it?

“Dumbledore allowed the same with me. At Wools. Many years ago, now. Though, unlike Harry, I learned to bite my Demons.” His shoulders were broad. His hands large and graceful but not spidery or clawed, covered in a pair of fine dragonhide gloves. He reached up towards his cowl, pulled it back, and Sirius braced for the vision of a nightmare which didn’t come. The man looking down at him now couldn’t have been much older than James had been when he’d been cut down defending his family, and looked like a Muggle depiction of the Devil before his fall. High cheekbones. Thin lips. Sharp jaw. All beneath a crown of deep brown curls and eyes the color of the night sky over Azkaban: dark blue and soul-leechingly cold. “But we’re not here to talk about me. Nor about my soulbound. We’re here to determine what I should do with you.” Just when he’d begun to question if it was truly Voldemort that he was looking at that horrible wand was shoved into his face. The spell the Dark Lord cast neither the Torture Curse nor the flash of green nothingness which would have ended it all, but the last spell Sirius ever expected. “Legilimens.”

He’d been held under the Cruciatus before. Had thought that that would be the worst pain he’d ever felt in his life. But this came pretty close. It felt like a Mountain Troll had cuffed him in the head with a club made of solid granite. Claws, sharp as razors and cold as ice, sinking deeper and deeper into his flesh as the Dark Lord himself rummaged about in his head. His efforts at throwing up shields, at lobbing him out, amounting to nothing: the long term exposure to the Dementors had left him too drained, too weak, to manage it. Pressing back against the presence helplessly only to find an absolute refusal to yield. Images flashed before his eyes. Lily and James telling him that they were to be put into hiding until the war had passed. Asking him to be their secret keeper. His refusal for fear that Voldemort would mark him as the obvious choice and corner him. Do precisely what he was doing now and tear through his mind to find the information that he wanted. His greatest regret: suggesting Peter, the traitorous little rat, be made secret keeper instead. The horrible night when he’d received the news: finding his best friend and his wife dead in their home. Harry, bleeding and terrified and crying in his crib in the midst of his destroyed nursery. Rushing after Peter, only to have the little bastard fake his own death and escape amid the chaos of a blasting curse. His grief and guilt in that moment combining to make him seem murderous and insane. 

The pressure of invasive magic released abruptly and Sirius sagged forward into the iron grip which caught against his arm. The sickening crush of side along apparition made his vision go spotty and the rest of what balance he’d retained deserted him. The plush surface of a rug pressed into his face. He groaned over the faint crackle of the fire in the hearth and the dull thud of the Dark Lord’s footfalls moving through the room around him. The bastard still had his wand! Probably had Harry held captive somewhere, if he hadn’t already-.

“Tilky.” The other man’s calm voice was immediately followed by the pop of a house elf’s arrival. “Bring my guest a proper meal, along with a mug of Honeyduke’s finest hot chocolate. Put some pepper up in it. And a splash of firewhiskey, I think, wouldn’t go amiss. 

“Of course, Master Tom. Tilky will be doing it.” Sirius raised his head from the rug he’d wound up sprawled on and caught sight of the little dress she wore; prim and clean and nothing like the rags that had been given to Kreacher. “Is there anything else she can be doing? Anything Kipsy might need to be knowing?”

“Not at the moment, thank you.” He said. “Is Harrison in bed?”

“As of a few hours ago, the Little Master is indeed being in bed.”

“Very good. Dismissed.” Another pop. The man waved that awful white wand over himself and transfigured the black robe into a well fitted emerald one with moving serpents coiling around the hems of his sleeves. He looked a bit softer beneath the fire’s light than he had beneath the moon’s, but his eyes were still about as hospitable as the Black Lake in January. “Can you make it to the couch or do I have to drag you?”

Sirius bared his teeth at the man, who in no way looked impressed, and dragged himself up onto all fours. “Touch me and I’ll bite you, you ruddy bastard! Give me my wand!”

“Almost 13 years in Azkaban hasn’t done much for your manners, I see.” Voldemort smirked at him as he stowed his own wand away in favor of fingering Sirius’ like it belonged to him. “I’d advise you to curb your feral tendencies, Lord Black. You are, after all, in quite the precarious position. And, as Harrison hasn’t found out about you yet, you haven’t the protection of his...displeasure with your resultant circumstance to shelter behind if you push me too much. Were I to decide you aren’t worth the trouble I’ll just make you disappear. Bury you in the garden of my manor which is, as I understand, the custom with dogs. Or turn you over to the blithering bungling bowler-hat wearing idiot who calls himself the Minister for Magic. Such a brilliant thing it would be for me, as Keres Alexos, newest Lord on the British Wizengamot, to be known across the country as the Hero who saved the Boy-Who-Lived, his charge and soulbound, from the mad Azkaban escapee who betrayed his parents.”

“ _Peter Pettigrew betrayed James and Lily! You know that! Because he sold them out to you! Because you rifled through my head!”_

The Dark Lord hissed like a snake that had been stepped on and flicked his stolen wand at the door. Throwing up a silencing charm. “There is a _child_ sleeping down that hall,” he snarled. “If you wake him up I’ll do far worse than Crucio you!”

“Dumbledore-.”

“Knew that you weren’t the Potter’s secret keeper. Knew that the very notion of your guilt was flawed at its core. And yet he didn’t raise a finger to help you.” He said. “He let you be thrown in Azkaban and left you there to rot for over a decade. Let Harry be tortured by those filthy Muggles, all for the sake of a protection which never existed in the first place.”

“Lily’s sacrifice killed you!”

“Voldemort was destroyed because of the backlash of attempting to murder his own soulbound. There was never anything more to it than that.” His voice was cold. “There is no ‘blood protection born from his mother’s love’. There is, however, Eternal interference to land my arse here because my older self is a mangled fool!”

“Older... _there are two of you?”_

“‘Two of you’ would imply that Voldemort is still an entire person.” The other man said tartly. A tray of steaming food and a mug of hot chocolate appeared on the nearby coffee table. “Sit. Eat. I’ll return your wand once I’m certain you’re not about to act like a fool.”

“Why should I listen to anything you have to say?”

There was a well hidden annoyance in the brunet’s gaze. “At this point, Black, what do you have to lose?”

Well, as much as he absolutely hated to admit it the bastard had a damn good point with that much. Irritated, Sirius dragged himself the rest of the way up onto his feet and limped over to the table. Dropping down onto the couch and picking up the fork. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he started eating and cleared his plate in a handful of minutes. Voldemort looked on in well hidden disgust from the opposite couch as he drained the last of his hot chocolate. Shuddering in relief as some of the lingering effects of the Dementors faded.

“I want to see Harry.”

Little Voldemort took the demand better than Snake Face Voldemort probably would have, given that a Crucio wasn’t immediately flung across the room at him for daring to make any sort of demand, but his glare was still scorching. “You may see him,” with all the grace and elegance in the world, Little Voldemort rose from his seat, “if you are _silent_. And you may not wake him. Sleep is important if the regiment of potions Narcissa has him taking are to work.”

“You’re having him treated by my cousin?”

“I needed a dark aligned healer I knew I could trust.” He started across the room. “The Malfoys have always been my most faithful.” Sirius was barely given the chance to keep up with the other man as he swept down the hallway. Passed pictures of haughty-faced purebloods who reminded him unpleasantly of his mother and to a door across from a window looking out over expansive grounds. With a last warning glance at him and a motion for silence, Tom pushed open the door of the room. Allowing Sirius reluctantly past him.

“He’s...so small.” A rumple of black hair was just about all he could see of his godson beneath a drift of fine covers. “He’s _too_ small! _Why is he so small? He’s thirteen!”_ Sirius moved to yank the covers back, to get a better look at the boy’s face to make certain he wasn’t being shown someone else, and reared back with a yelp when a snake popped out from beneath the duvet and bit him in the thumb.

Harry shifted and made a slurred hissing noise, to which the snake responded. Little Voldemort was beside him a moment later, hissing soothingly as he pushed Sirius away. Taking his place as the bedside as the raven raised his head. “Wasgoinon?”

“Nothing, my Little Horntail. Helios got startled is all.” He said. One large gloved hand running through his black hair. The same hair that had belonged to James. “Go back to sleep.”

“He bit you?”

“No, Harry.”

“He said he bit you.”

“He’s not venomous and I’m wearing gloves.” A half-disbelieving grunt. “Go back to sleep.”

“Someone else is here?” he tried to sit up but the older man held him in place. Righting the duvet where it had been disturbed.

“We’ll discuss that tomorrow.” The young Dark Lord promised, motioning Sirius back into the hall. The ex-auror dared to linger in the doorway as the brunet made himself comfortable on the edge of the bed with a sigh. “Did you ever hear any of our world’s fairytales?”

A noise Little Voldemort translated as ‘no.’

“I’ll tell you one if you agree to go back to sleep right afterwards. I’ll introduce our company come morning.”

“Mmph.”

Tom made yet another failed effort to smooth down his hair. “There were once three brothers who were traveling along a lonely, winding road at twilight. In time, the brothers reached a river too deep to wade through and too dangerous to swim across. However, these brothers were well learned in the magical arts and so they simply waved their wands and made a bridge appear across the treacherous water. They were halfway across when they found their path blocked by a hooded figure.” He said. “And death spoke to them. He was angry that he had been cheated out of three new victims, for travelers usually drowned in that river. But death was cunning. He pretended to congratulate the three brothers upon their feat of magic, and said that each had earned a prize of their choosing for being clever enough to evade him-.”

Sirius stood there, barely able to believe his eyes, as the younger version of the most feared Dark Wizard of all time told a bed time story in a patient, soothing voice. Sitting beside his godson as he spoke. Stroking one of those large, murderous hands up and down the curve of his back until Harry lost the stubborn fight to stay awake. Hissing once more to the snake as it coiled itself back on the pillow and then settling the covers around the younger wizard’s shoulders. When Little Voldemort rejoined him out in the hallway, he closed the door behind him with a quiet click. 

“Did Helios draw blood?”

There was a mocking tone to the question which raised his hackles. “He can speak to snakes?”

“Of course he can speak to snakes! He’s the soulbound of the Heir of Slytherin!” With sharp, but no less controlled movements the other wizard offered him his wand, handle first. “You are to address me as Keres Alexos in any situation where we might be overhead, that would allow you to use a form capable of speech. You may address me otherwise as Tom. I’ll show you to your room, Black.”

“I’m here for Harry.” He growled as he took the offered wand. “Not to become one of your little minions.”

“At the moment, I’ve more pressing concerns than consolidating power.” Tom’s blue eyes glittered like the sharp edge of a knife. “Not that you’d make for much of a useful ‘little minion’ anyway. When you can’t go outside without every wizard and their mother’s blind krupp recognizing you. Or were you unaware that your face has been plastered all over the bloody _Prophet_?”

“My animagus form isn’t known to nearly anyone.”

“You didn’t register?”

“None of us did.”

“‘Us’ being Peter and who? His father?” A stiff nod. “Well, perhaps you’ll be of use to me after all. I’ve Dark artifacts to hunt down and dispose of to weaken my counterpart and it will require me to be around the whole of Britain during most of the school year. I’ve come to understand that Harry is prone to trouble and would feel better knowing someone other than Dumbledore is there to watch over him.”

Sirius forced himself to meet that piercing gaze and not give ground. “You really care about him?”

Tom sneered, goaded by the surprise plain in his voice. “He’s the only thing that I _could_ ever love: a piece of myself.” His emerald robe rippled around him as he turned to walk away. “And I don’t give up what belongs to me without quite the considerable fight. Your room is over this way.”


	10. His Godfather

Harry honestly didn’t know what he was looking at.

Tom, as usual, was sitting at the table with his cup of peppermint tea and a copy of _The Daily Prophet_. Dressed in a crisp black button down with golden buttons and a fitted pair of khakis. Polished loafers on his feet. Hair in perfect place. Wand-cane leaned against the chair he sat in. Glaring daggers at the scruffy black dog which had leapt up into the chair Harry normally sat in, placed its paws on the table and begun nosing at the little canisters of tea which had been left out on offer for him.

“ _Off,_ Black! For the last time!” The young Dark Lord’s lip was curled back over his white teeth, his blue eyes flashing. “That is not your seat. And I do not allow _animals_ at my dining table! Human form, or I’ll have Kipsy and Tilky serve you your breakfast on the floor. In an appropriate dish.”

The dog-or maybe wizard in dog form-made a point of providing the brunet with a good view of its backside as it leapt down onto the floor. All long legs and wild fur. Tom growled, low in the back of his throat, and Harry couldn’t hold down a snicker. The great black dog spun around, ears perked and tail raised, and bounded forward with an excited yip. Leaping at him before the little raven could react and knocking him flat onto the floor with a shout of surprise. Smothering him with dog kisses for the full span of three seconds before Tom seized the beast by the scruff of the neck and wrenched it off of him. Shoving the bone white point of his wand into its muzzle, prompting its tail to tuck between its legs.

“Knock him down again, and I. Will. Hex. You.” Promptly ignoring the dog Tom turned his full attention onto him and carefully pulled him back to his feet. Brushing him off as he did so. “Are you alright?”

“Fine. He didn’t hurt me.” Harry had been on the receiving end of canine aggression on enough occasions to recognize it a mile off. “He was just excited to see me.”

“See, Riddle? I didn’t scare him. And you didn’t have to go all ‘Dark Lord’ on me.” Harry startled and turned his head towards the voice only to be confronted with the sight of a scruffy looking man with black hair where the dog had been. “Morning, Prongslet.”

Tom let out a harsh sigh through his nose. “You are a disgrace to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”

The man who, just a moment ago, had been a dog snorted and said “good!”

Harry got the distinct impression that, had anything hard been within reach, the older wizard would have banged his head against it. Perhaps repeatedly. “Harrison.” He said. “This is Sirius Black. Your dog father.”

“Godfather!”

The evil smirk on Tom’s face made it clear he’d done it on purpose. Harry was too dumbstruck by the notion that he had family left, a connection to his parents left, to care. “My godfather?” A whirl of emotion roared up inside him: confusion and elation and resentment so tangled together that he wasn’t certain what he was feeling anymore. His eyes began to burn behind his glasses. “Dumbledore said the only family I had left were the Dursleys. I didn’t even know I had a godfather.”

Gently, as if concerned touching him too suddenly might shatter what control over his emotions he still retained, Tom rested a supporting hand on his back. “Albus Dumbledore is a man who believes in the ‘greater good’. Much like his ‘dear friend’ Gellert Grindelwald.” He said. “He has a plan for you, I’m sure. And that plan required you, for whatever reason-be it your safety or something else-to find yourself with your mother’s disgusting Muggle sister. So he allowed an innocent man to go to Azkaban for over a decade, convicted of having a hand in the murder of your parents.”

“He knew?” movements jerky with frustration, Harry reached up and scrubbed at his eyes.

“Albus Dumbledore believes that the ends justify the means and will manipulate those around him as is necessary to achieve what he believes is right. As I do. But, unlike me, he wraps those manipulations in the warm inviting caring face of a grandfather which makes the bite of reality far harsher than need be.”

“Harry-.” Sirius took a hesitant step forward. Reaching out but not yet daring to touch. As if afraid Tom would suddenly turn his head and bite off one of his fingers. 

“I thought he cared.”

“I’m sure he does.” Tom said, half soothing. Running gentle fingers up and down along his spine. “But Albus and I are different in that I care for myself and for you, and the significance of that shies me away from using you as a pawn or puppet. Dumbledore cares for everyone, enough so that there’s no such difference between those he considers family and those he considers tools.”

“Because he thinks he’s doing the right thing?”

Tom nodded and brushed the hair back from his face. “Yes, Little One. Because he believes he’s doing the right thing. And no matter what you think of him now that you know that you must be mindful not to display too much distrust while under his watch at Hogwarts.” He said. “He wouldn’t hurt you. Not while you’re still a child. But he would take you from me if given the slightest opportunity. Of that much I have no doubt.”

“I’m not going back to the Dursleys, Tom.”

“No. You’re not. And I won’t allow anyone to force you to.” He promised. “Now, sit and eat your breakfast. Get to know your godfather; he’ll be staying with us, now, to keep him from being thrown back into Azkaban. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, he’s an animagus: his cover in public will be as the family pet.”

“Went by Padfoot in my school days.” Sirius grinned at him. Taking the place at his side that Tom had reluctantly vacated to return to his seat. “But Petit Mort, there, thinks Snuffles is a better idea.”

“You wouldn’t call me that if you knew what ‘Little Death’ was a euphemism for.” Tom picked up his toast. “Your play on Voldemort isn’t clever, Black.”

“What does it mean, Tom?” Harry’s eyes were still burning slightly, but tears no longer imminently threatened. With Sirius trailing close behind, as if worried he might suddenly topple over backwards, he made his way to his usual chair.

“I’ll tell you when you’re old enough to do it.” His godfather made a choking noise and threw a horrified look in the young Dark Lord’s direction, which the brunet summarily ignored. Picking up his cup of tea. “Sit. Eat. Entertain the dog man for a while. We’ll be heading into Diagon a day earlier than planned so that I can handle a spot of business in Knockturn. You received the coming years’ list of necessary school supplies?”

“We’re not going to wait for Ron and Hermione?”

“You’ll still get to shop with your friends, Harrison. I just want to make certain the bleeding owl managed to find you.” There was a mild and well hidden tone of exasperation in his voice. “We’ll find something to do in the meanwhile which doesn’t involve school shopping.”

“There’s plenty to do in Diagon, Prongslet. I’m sure we’ll be able to entertain ourselves for one day.” Sirius assured him, then looked over at Tom with narrowed eyes. “I’ll watch him while you handle whatever Dark Lord nonsense you have to do.”

Tom made no response to the ‘nonsense’ comment and fixed Harry in a stern gaze. “The dog remains leashed at all times.”

_“HEY!”_

“Breakfast, Harrison!”

Unable to keep a smile off his face, Harry picked up his fork and started to eat. Sirius, apparently deciding he was better off ignoring the other wizard, dropped down into the seat which had been conjured between them.

“So, Prongslet, how have you been enjoying your time at Hogwarts so far?” He asked. “You weren’t sorted in with the slimy snakes, were you?”

“Snakes, Black, aren’t slimy. Don’t confuse them with frogs.”

“The hat tried to convince me that I’d find ‘true friends’ there.” Harry said. “But when I met Draco on the train, and before that at _Madam Malkin’s_ , he reminded me too much of Dudley to ever want to be his friend. So I convinced it to put me in Gryffindor.”

“Good man!” Sirius clapped him on the back, his shout almost succeeding in drowning out Tom’s growl. “Gotten up to any pranks?”

Harry looked at him in surprise. “No. That stage belongs to the twins. Why?”

“Because you’re the Marauders’ only living heir, Prongslet! That’s why.” Sirius said. “You have James’ cloak right?”

Harry nodded. “Dumbledore gave it to me at Christmas my first year.”

“Well, start using it to get up to more trouble!” Obviously he had no idea just what sort of ‘trouble’ he’d been getting up to already. “If Riddle allows it, of course.”

Tom folded that morning’s paper with a crack and glowered at Sirius balefully before treating Harry to a firm look. “Do _not_ get caught.”

“Maybe he’s not as bad as I thought.” Sirius said begrudgingly. “So, who are the twins?”

Harry set down the piece of bacon he’d been working on. “Fred and George Weasley.” He said. “I think you’d like them; they've invented some interesting things. Most of which they’ve used on the Slytherins. And Snape.”

“So Snivellus is still at Hogwarts?”

“Potions professor.”

“Slimy git.” Sirius grumbled. “Let me guess: he hates you.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

“Nevertheless, I’d advise being more subtle in your efforts to antagonize him.” Tom said. “If you absolutely must continue to do so. Give as good as he does; use your venom.”

Sirius looked at him, and then at Tom, and back again. “I’m never going to say I like Minimort but there are times that he’s more tolerable than others.”

Tom tossed a Stinging Hex at him across the platter of eggs and Sirius’ leg banged against the bottom of the table, upsetting the milk.

Breakfast passed, after that, in a mostly peaceful fashion and Tom retired to his office for another few hours. Leaving Harry to Sirius’ mercy, and the fate of being regaled by stories of his father, godfather and their two friends referred to only as ‘Moony’ and ‘Wormtail’ until it was nearly noon at which point the Dark Lord re-emerged and, with orders at Sirius to return to his dog form, swept them both through the floo.

Expecting his fall by this point, Tom managed to arrive in _The Leaky Cauldron_ a split second after him and seized him by the elbow. Preventing him from becoming anything more than just south of upright. Sirius let out a rumbling bark and leapt over the grate, tracking sooty prints across the bricks, and shook ashes out of his thick coat. Sending a betrayed look at the other man when an emerald and silver leash appeared around his neck.

“Shall we have a spot of desert before I turn you loose?” Once certain the smaller wizard had regained his feet he released his arm and handed over the leash. Pausing a moment later to shake out his robes. “It’s certainly hot enough for ice cream.”

Sirius yipped, wagging his tail wildly, and set to dragging Harry across the pub towards the courtyard before he could reply. Tom sighed and followed them out, quick to stow his wand away once the gateway had been opened. Sirius’ eagerness was infectious and pushed the smile which spread across Harry’s face even wider. Were it not for the anchoring grip of Tom’s hand on his shoulder he’d likely have been pulled fully off his feet and onto the cobbles.

“Behave, mutt.” The young Dark Lord hissed as they arrived at the threshold of _Florian Fortescue’s Icecream Parlor_. “Or I will tie your lead to the handle and leave you on the stoop.”

Sirius huffed but settled into pace at Harry’s side. Satisfied, Tom allowed them both into the store. Harry hadn’t been in the place for quite some time-the last time had been almost exactly a year before when he’d bought he, Ron and Hermione cones of strawberry peanutbutter icecream-but almost nothing had changed. The walls and tile floor were clad in brilliant colors and a pleasant chill suffused the air, lightly scented with milk and sugar. Florean Fortescue, a ginger man with a pair of horn rim glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, looked up as they entered and smiled.

“Welcome. And, ah, Mr. Potter. Welcome back!” He said. “What can I get for you today?”

Harry stared at the array of different flavors, momentarily overwhelmed, before settling on chocolate raspberry with chopped nuts. The same sundae Hagrid had bought him during his first visit. Sirius yipped and scratched at the apple crumble label with his paw. Tom, regally as ever, ordered a bowl of clotted cream and acid pops the result of which was a mix of brilliant green and almost silver.

Once they’d been given their ice cream-Tom holding the apple crumble well out of a complaining Sirius’ reach-the young Dark Lord turned to look down at him with laughing eyes. “Well, Little One. Inside or outside?”

Harry considered, for a moment, remaining in the gentle cool of the ice cream parlor before deciding against it. Sirius wouldn’t fit very well beneath one of the tables and there wasn't space in the booths for the animagus to join them. “Outside.”

“Outside it is, then.”

They ended up at a round metal table beside the railing which separated the patio from the street at large. Tom daintily took small bites of the treat while Harry enjoyed his own until Sirius finished scarfing down his ‘pet sized’ portion and leapt up into the young Dark Lord’s lap. Nearly knocking the chair over backwards. His efforts to steal the brunet’s ice cream prompted Tom to shove the remaining contents of the bowl into the big black dog’s nose. Sirius tumbled back to the cobbles with a yelp of surprise and managed to dislodge the bowl with a few shakes of his head. Pawing the ice cream off his nose and sending Harry a look of betrayal for laughing.

“You clearly wanted it more than I did.” Tom said innocently, cleaning his plastic spoon and then tossing it into the nearest bin. “Clean up your mess, Snuffles. Harrison, deep breaths. Finish your ice cream.”

Grumbling, Sirius went to retrieve the discarded paper bowl and dispose of it properly while Harry finished his own and picked up the cane Tom had insisted on him bringing. The red gems encrusting the dragon’s head flashing in the sunlight as he rose.

“I have time to accompany you to one more store before I need to attend to my own business.” Tom said. “Shall we drop in to _Quality Quidditch Supplies?”_

Sirius’ bark sounded approving. Harry nodded and, together, the odd trio set off down the street towards the most popular Quidditch shop in the Alley. Harry’s good mood lasted only as long as it took for him to notice the gaggle of Slytherins, Draco’s crown of pale hair easily recognizable at the center, all but pasted against the front window. Sirius’ ears went back and he growled. The sound attracted the attention of the snakes.

“Oh look. It’s Potter.” Pansy looked even more like a pug than the last time he’d seen her. He kept that much to himself. “Come to buy replacement Quidditch robes? Second hand, maybe? There’s no way you’d have come for the Firebolt.”

“Never a chance that anyone who hangs around with riffraff like the Weasleys could afford the fastest racing broom in the world.” Another of the little group-Theodore Nott, maybe? Harry couldn’t really recall his name-sneered. 

Behind him, Tom perked up. “Fastest racing broom in the world, you said?”

Recalling the older wizard’s multiple instances that he have ‘only the best’ Harry could feel his face beginning to turn pale. “Keres!”

“Young Mr. Malfoy.” Tom ignored him. “Your father told me that he purchased racing brooms for the whole of Slytherin’s team last year. Is that true?”

Draco looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable to have the whole of Tom’s attention on him. Harry wondered if Lucius had told him who he really was. “Yes, Sir.”

The other Slytherins turned to face the Malfoy Heir in surprise. Confused as to why their friend would treat the strange adult they’d never seen before who was in the company of his school yard nemesis with enough respect to call him ‘Sir’. “What model?”

“The Nimbus 2001.”

“Keres!” Harry piped up, more urgently this time. “Please! I bloody well know what you’re thinking-!”

“What do you say I do one better than Lucius and purchase a fleet of them from Gryffindor?”

“ _Those are 1000 galleons a piece!_ ”

“Very well. I’ll just buy one for you, then. Watch him, Snuffles.” He’d disappeared into the store before Harry could recover enough from the surprise to attempt to call him back. And, like that, he was left to the mercy of Draco and his pack of purebloods.

Harry rested a hand on Sirius’ scruff, though whether it was to retrain the other wizard or keep himself calm he had no idea. For a moment there was silence, Draco’s silver eyes looking him up and down, seemingly thinking something over, then the peace was shattered by Pansy’s nasal voice.

“Just because you look like a proper pureblood now doesn’t change the fact that you’re a Gryffindor disgrace, Potter!” She snapped. “Who’s that with you? One of Dumbledore’s-.”

“Lord Gaunt-Peverell is an old acquaintance of my father’s.” Draco cut her off, drawing back their surprised gazes. “He came to visit at the manor a few weeks ago; I asked about him later and was told he’d attended Durmstrang rather than Hogwarts and that he’s particularly proficient in the dark arts. He recently reclaimed his seats on the Wizengamot, and rescued Potter from the Muggles Dumbledore was having him raised by.”

“Well, maybe he’d be raised properly going forward.” Millicent Bulstrode turned to walk away, nose high in the air. “With any luck this ‘Lord Gaunt-Peverell’ will persuade him better of associating with a bloodtraitor and a mudblood.”

As the Slytherins filtered away, Draco remained where he stood. Gaze periodically shifting from the cane he held, to the storefront beside them, then back to Harry’s narrowed eyes. “Want something, Malfoy?”

Draco sneered at him as he turned to leave himself. “Nice to see you properly dressed for once.”

Sirius snorted after him and flashed his teeth again. Harry ran his fingers through his coarse black fur. Tom’s footsteps thudded on the stoop behind him and Harry turned to face him. The young Dark Lord looked incredibly pleased with himself, wrapped broom in hand.

“Don’t look at me like that. I’ve told you before that coin is no concern of ours.” Tom pressed the Firebolt into his arms. “Not to mention that I had 12 missed birthdays to make up for.”

“But my Nimbus 2000 still works!”

“It working or not working isn’t the issue.” Tom said. “Only the best.”

“And when they come out with a new, even better broom?”

“Then, obviously, you’ll be getting that.” Recognizing a lost cause Harry sighed and hung his head. “Now, come along. We’ll rent a room at _The Leaky Cauldron_ again; you can leave the broom there. I’ll give you some galleons to entertain yourself with while I’m away.”

Sirius trotted quietly along behind them as Tom ushered Harry, broom clutched to his chest, ahead of him towards the inn. In a whirl of robes and gold, the little raven found himself once more alone on the streets of the alley with a pocket full of coins and Sirius at his side. With little else to do the young wizard spent the next handful of hours perusing whatever stores seemed interesting-including a wizarding candy store where he bought Tom a bag of firewhiskey flavored Dragon Drops-while doing his best to avoid any further contact with Slytherins. It was almost afternoon when Harry finally returned to _The Leaky Cauldron_. Trekking up to the room that Tom had rented for them and dropping off what he’d bought. Shoving an acid pop into his mouth and happy to relax until his companion returned only for a muted commotion from the floor below to draw his attention. Followed abruptly by Sirius taking off out of the room, though how he managed to operate a turn knob with his paws Harry had no idea.

“Snuffles!”

Stopping long enough to grab his wand-cane, he rushed after the animagus. All but tripping down the stairs in his haste at the sight which met him: a blur of grey and ginger and black as a cat chased a rat while simultaneously being chased by a wizard in the form of a dog. Ron and Hermione both making failed attempts to intervene while yelling at each other.

“Scabbers!” Shouted Ron, wincing and almost toppling over as he tripped on an offset bench. “I _told you_ to keep a handle on your bloody beast, Hermione!”

“And _I_ told _you_ to keep a better hold of your own pet, Ronald!” The bushy haired witch snapped. “Crookshanks, no!”

“Snuffles! Come back!”

Both of his friends whirled around, looks of surprise on their faces, and chorused “Harry!” before the door swung inwards with a loud bang and a jet of purple light flew across the room. The grim-like dog tripping spectacularly into a nearby table with a racus clatter. The rat zooming through midair into Tom’s outstretched hand. Long fingers closing behind its shoulders to prevent it from biting. Crookshanks, however, had no such restraint and took a flying leap at the young Dark Lord. Hissing and spitting and trying to claw at his face when Tom caught it by the scruff.

“Bad dog!” He snapped in Sirius’ direction as, with an err of embarrassment, the animagus pulled himself onto his feet. Holding the squeaking rat and yowling kneazle-cat out towards their respective owners with flashing eyes. “Collect your animals. Both of you. Harrison, I believe I warned you to keep Snuffles on a leash!”

“Sorry,” he grumbled while his friends accepted their pets back. Glaring briefly at each other before treating Tom to curious glances. “How did it go?’

Tom opened his mouth to answer but a scream ripped through the room before he could. All four of them spinning around in time to see Ginny collapse beside the hearth in a dead faint. The brunet could only muster a rather affronted sounding “oh my” to break the beat of silence to follow. Harry could already tell this was going to be a long day.


	11. Meet the Weasleys

_Knockturn Alley hadn’t changed much from when he’d last seen in, back in his own time. The same dingy buildings and darkened ramshackle storefronts. The same balding cobblestones. The same hag, selling shriveled organs at a popup stall out front of the gardening store which advertised things like flesh eating slug repellent and dragon manure. His destination and former place of work stood just where he remembered it. The name of the establishment written in curling golden script across a dark green overhang. The bell over the door clattered as he pushed the door open, heralding his arrival._

_The dry and dusty wooden floorboards creaked beneath his feet as he moved further into the dim space. Eyes roving over the familiar objects on display: bloodied playing cards, various Muggle instruments of torture and a hand of glory. Looking up when the owner-Mr. Borgin, Caractacus’ business partner whom he’d only worked with on occasion-emerged from the back room and shuffled up to the counter._

_“Welcome to Borgin and Burke’s. How may I be of..bloody hell, Riddle! Is that you?”_

_“Good afternoon, Mr. Borgin.” He drew a few steps further forwards. Smirk twisting on his face as the other man turned red and inflated like an angry blast-ended skrewt._

_“Don’t you dare give me that nonsense! You’d best have a good explanation for where you’ve been the last few decades! We sent you to recover our locket-!”_

_Tom had the point of his wand pressed into the soft flesh beneath the other man’s chin in an instant. Watching his complexion turn death white. “The locket of Salazar Slytherin never belonged to either of you! It was always mine by rite, as his last living heir!” He pressed the yew wand in his hand a bit more harshly against him. “You should consider this an honor, Mr. Borgin. After all, not many can claim to have stood in the direct presence of Lord Voldemort and lived. Provide me with the information I require and you may stand among them.”_

_“Y-You...how? You don’t look a day over-.”_

_“24.” Tom supplied snidely. “Time related nonsense is beyond the scope of our conversation. Last I recall, Caractacus had sold my locket. Is that correct?” The other man nodded as quickly as he dared with the sharp length of wood at his throat. “Who bought it?”_

_“I-.”_

_Tom prodded him again and hissed, showing his canines. “Who. Bought. It.”_

_“A witch! Rich! Old! Claimed her name was Hepzibah!”_

_“Hepzibah what?”_

_“Smith, Riddle! Hapzibah Smith!” He said. “He sent you to get it back from her. Next thing we know, she’s been poisoned to death by her own rudy house elf and you’ve disappeared. Along with the locket. No one ever saw hide or hair of you again.” A pause before, in a sudden show of spine, Borgin added “as Tom Riddle, at least.”_

_Tom graciously poked him once more just to prove a point before he withdrew. “As thanks for providing me what I seek, I’ll allow you to live. Lord Voldemort always keeps his word. You, however, will not keep your memories.” He pointed his wand into the other Wizard’s face and snarled “obliviate!”_

His trip into the other alley had been successful enough, and Tom’s mood had hovered at something close to mildly pleased as he swept over the threshold of _The Leaky Cauldron_ only to be confronted with Black, in animagus form, chasing a positively massive kneazle-cat, chasing an ancient looking rat while Harry and two others tried without success to stop them. A Tripping Jinx took care of Black. A wandless wordless Accio the rat. The kneazle monster, with a ferocity Tom would have to reluctantly admit to admiring if asked, didn’t hesitate to make a leap for his face with claws on full display.

And then the red haired witch-a second year at the most-had screeched like a wounded harpy and fainted. Needless to say, any hopes of a good mood had been sufficiently dashed.

“Woof.” Said Sirius, quite unhelpfully, earning another frown.

“Silence you. I do not frighten children!”

Harry stifled a slight cough which Tom summarily ignored as he crossed to where another witch-presumably her mother, judging by the similar appearance and the way she’d immediately begun to fuss-was lifting her daughter onto a couch.

“I do apologize, Mrs. This is hardly a good first impression.” He assisted in easing the terror down. “I’m not certain what I did. She just looked at me and went down.”

Harry appeared at his shoulder an instant later. “My cousin, Mrs. Weasley. Keres.”

“Keres Alexos.” He reached into the pocket of his outer robe and pulled out a vial of yellow crystals.

“Are those that Muggle smelling salts?”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“I thought you didn’t like-.”

“They’re useful, Harrison!” The little cork came free of the bottle. Ginny came aware almost immediately after having the bottle waved under her nose. She blinked blearily, caught sight of Tom and screamed again. “Silencio!” The brunet hissed. “Galloping gargoyles, girl! You can’t just start screeching like a banshee in public. Someone might send you to the Janus Thickey ward!”

“H-Harry!” Ginny turned wide horrified eyes on him. Pointing a shaking hand at Tom. “R-Riddle! It’s him!”

“Riddle is dead, Ginny.” A not inconsiderable part of him felt horrible for lying to her. Even if it wasn’t _really_ lying since the version of Tom that had tried to kill them down in the chamber _was_ dead. “I know he looks a lot like him. It frightened me a bit too, at first. But this is Keres. My cousin. I’ve been staying with him all summer and he hasn’t hurt me; he’s not a threat.”

Tom muttered something which might have been in parseltongue about definitely being a threat if he were of a mind to be prompting the younger wizard to lightly kick him in the shin. “Ouch you terror!”

“But-.”

“You trust me. Don’t you Ginny?”

The red headed witch stared at him for a drown out moment, as if still unwilling to believe her ears, then sighed and nodded. Gaze flicking to Tom and away again. “Keep him away from me.”

Harry looked over at the brunet, who sighed in annoyance and jammed the cork back into the bottle before he rose. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable with my presence.” The false sincerity of his tone likely wouldn’t have been detectable to anyone else. Tom looked to Mrs. Weasley. “You’re Mrs. Weasley, yes? I’d like to speak with you, if I could. Harry has had nothing but good things to say about the whole of your family and I’d like to know more about the woman my soulbound considers his mother.”

Her expression shifted from warriness to something warmer as she smiled and gestured towards a nearby table. “Call me Molly, dear.”

“Harrison.” Tom said to Harry as he followed the Weasley matriarch away, “take your friends upstairs and show them your new broom. The Slytherins certainly seemed impressed.”

Ron’s attention was instantly on him. “He bought you a new broom, mate?” Hermione’s exasperated sigh, as she held Crookshanks in her arms and scratched behind the half-kneazle’s ears, went ignored. “Don’t you still have your Nimbus 2000?”

“Once he learned Malfoy’s father bought the Slytherin team a fleet of Nimbus 2001s he didn’t think it was good enough.” He said. “Are you ok, Ginny?” she nodded and glared across the room at Tom’s back. “Do you want to come up with us?” The younger witch shook her head. Harry sighed. “Alright. Come on, Snuffles.”

“What broom did he buy you?” Hermione’s tone held a note of disapproval at the notion of replacing something which was still perfectly workable. “A Nimbus 2001, like Draco’s?”

Even that would have been too much. Harry shifted uncomfortably and scratched at the back of his head. “A Firebolt.”

“ _What?”_ Ron screeched, making both Harry and Sirius jump and turn to stare. “He bought you a bloody _Firebolt?_ Harry, that’s the _best_ racing broom in the _world_! Only about 100 people have one and all of them play on professional teams!”

“I saw an advertisement for that broom while I was in Paris.” Hermione said. “Harry, those are 1000 galleons a piece. You’re saying he dropped that much money on a whim?”

“He threatened to buy one for the entire team but I managed to talk him out of it.”

_“What? Why?”_

Over Ron’s bellow and the clatter of the room key, Hermione asked “how rich is he? I can’t imagine Lucius Malfoy doing something like that for Draco, and they’re one of the richest wizarding families in Britain.”

“Very rich, apparently. And friendly with the Goblin Nation.” The door swung shut with a creak. Sirius jumped up onto the bed and curled atop the mattress. Ron bounded across the room to stare at the broom like he’d once seen Ripper stare at a steak. 

“You haven’t opened it yet?”

He shook his head. “You can if you want.”

Over the sound of tearing paper, Hermione said “ is that a wand cane, Harry? Like the one Draco’s father has?”

“Oh, er, yeah. It’s from him, actually. He sent two to Keres as a gift, from their family vault. I think he’s trying to get into his graces since he has some pretty powerful seats on the Wizengamot.” He rubbed his thumb over the dragon’s rough scales. “Apparently it's a pureblood thing. Carrying wands in public inside of canes. He got me a wand sheath for Hogwarts though since, apparently, carrying my wand in my back pocket is a good way to ‘hex my own arse off’.”

Harry couldn’t help but think the look on his friend’s face stretched beyond ‘concern’. “Is he Dark, Harry?”

“Hermione,” he said, “he’s not a Death Eater.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

He sighed and dropped onto the edge of the bed. “Yes.” Harry could hear the reluctance lacing his own voice. “He’s Dark. But he’s not dangerous. And he’s not a blood supremacist, though he does have problems with Muggles since they abused him growing up. He wouldn’t hurt me.”

“You don’t know that.”

Much to the raven’s surprise, Ron was able to drag himself away from drooling over the Firebolt long enough to say “Actually he does. You heard what that Keres bloke said down there just as well as I did. They’re soulbound. You can’t hurt your soulbound. Not on purpose.”

“What’s to stop him?”

Well, Harry had it on pretty good authority that hurting your soulbound lead to being instantly vaporized. “He cares about me, ‘Mione. This is the best summer I’ve ever had.”

The frizzy haired witch huffed, but dropped the line of conversation and sat beside him. “What is a soulbound anyway?”

“Your other half. It’s really rare that it happens but they’re supposed to be exactly suited to one another.” Ron said. “The perfect partner.”

Much to Harry’s confusion, Hermione rounded on him and grabbed hold of his arm with such force it went numb. “Harry James Potter you are 13! And he’s, what, 25? Don’t tell me you’ve managed to get yourself romantically involved with an adult man?”

Romantic? Sure he thought Tom was bloody beautiful. Sure Tom was possessive and protective of him and probably would-literally-rip the head off anyone he tried to date but at the moment Harry had nothing close to what someone might refer to as ‘romantic inclinations’ towards him. And he’d never gotten the sense from the older wizard that there was anything beyond familial affection motivating his desire to spend time with him and his tendency towards physical contact.

“Er…?”

“Oh, come off it Hermione. It’s not like that.” Ron said. “Soulbinds are a magical connection based off the desires and needs of the more vulnerable of the pair. It’s not like what you’re thinking. Won’t be until Harry wants it to be.”

“Aren’t there laws about that kind of thing?” she demanded. “There are in the Muggle world.”

“There are normally but Soulbounds are an exception to a lot of it.” Ron said. “The transition doesn’t happen until the other half is ‘ready’ and, well, your own magic knows that about you I guess.”

Hermione looked at Harry again. “That really doesn’t make you uncomfortable?”

“Not at all.” He said. And, to be entirely honest, if anything about Tom was going to ‘make him uncomfortable’ it would be the Dark Lord business and not their 11 year (plus time skip) age gap. “Keres is...hard to explain. But he makes me feel safe.”

“If you’re certain he hasn’t done anything untoward, I guess there’s not much that can be done about it.” She still sounded incredibly reluctant. “You said he wasn’t a blood supremacist-.”

“He isn’t, Hermione. I swear.” Harry said. “I specifically asked if he had any problems with either of you and he said he doesn’t. And that that won’t change unless one of you tries to kill me.”

“Does Dumbledore know about him?”

“We ran into him the other day while Keres was filing his Lordship papers at the Ministry.”

The witch searched his face for any sign he might be lying. Harry never got the chance to know whether or not she found any because a sharp knock descended on the door. Tom appeared in the doorway with mischief in his eyes.

“I hope you three are playing nice?”

“Keres.” Harry rose to greet the other man, who reached out to lightly touch his shoulder in return. “These are my best friends: Ron and Hermione.”

“I’ve heard a great deal about the both of you. Harry tells me you’re his first friends. More like siblings to him, really.” Nodding to Ron, he held a hand out to Hermione and lightly kissed her knuckles. Combining the action with a smile which made her face turn pink. “Keres Alexos, though I’m sure you caught my name already during the chaos downstairs.”

“Nice to meet you, Sir.” Hermione managed after a moment further. “Harry has told us a lot about you as well.”

“Good things, I hope?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “As if you’ve given me reason to tell them otherwise.”

Tom moved his hand from his shoulder to the top of his head. Running skilled fingers through his wild dark hair. He tutted softly. “Merlin, child. It’s like you have Devil’s Snare growing out of the top of your head instead of hair.” Ignoring the little raven’s grumble of ‘it’s a Potter thing’ he said “Mrs. Weasley asked me to retrieve the three of you; seeing as everyone happened to wind up here a day earlier than planned it’s been decided to go ahead and start shopping. We’re splitting into two groups.”

“You’re going to be with me?”

The older man nodded. “With Hermione, Mr. Weasley and the twins from what I’ve been told.” He said. “Ron will be going with his mother, Percy and the young Ms. Weasley who still seems terribly afraid of me.” Tom pulled the supply list they’d been sent in the mail from the inner pocket of his robe and unfolded it. “ _Standard Book of Spells, Grade 3. Unfogging the Future-_ why did you _ever_ take Divination, Harrison? _Intermediate Transfiguration._ That damnable biting book Hagrid sent you in the mail. _The Essential Defense Against the Dark Arts._ Not a terribly long list.”

“Not to mention _Numerology and Gramatica_ and _The Spellman’s Syllabary._ ” Hermione said. 

“Ah, of course. Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, Ms. Granger?” Tom flashed another disarming smile. “I have fond memories of those subjects. Though my guilty favorite was Care of Magical Creatures.”

“And Dark Arts.” Harry said.

“They’ve never taught Dark Arts at Hogwarts.” And Hermione was back to being suspicious.

“I’m well aware of that much, Ms. Granger. But you’ll find I am an alumni of the prestigious academy of magic by name of Durmstrang. Not Hogwarts.” Meeting Harry’s eye, Tom snorted when he saw the little raven mouth ‘I’m sorry’. “It’s quite alright, Harrison. She’s merely protective of you; with your track record I’m not terribly surprised. Now, let’s head down and join the others shall we? I’m sure they’re getting worried. Leave your pets, all of you.”

Sirius let out an indignant whine, picked up the leash Tom had summoned and pressed it into his hand. The young Dark Lord huffed and grumbled but secured it in place and held out the other end to Harry. The little wizard accepted it with a grin.

“ _Behave_ , Snuffles!” The brunet ordered the animagus as they passed. Closing and locking the door once everyone was out of the room.

As Tom had said, the remainder of their party-Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, Fred and George, Percy and Ginny, who immediately turned white and ducked behind her mother on catching sight of the Dark Lord-were waiting for them on the lower level. Ron bid the other two a short farewell before going to join his mother who, it had apparently been decided, would be headed to _Flourish and Blotts_ first. The twins and Mr. Weasley crossed the room to join them. The red headed man enthusiastically greeted Harry before extending a hand towards Tom.

“Arthur Weasley. I heard from Molly that you’re Harry’s cousin?”

“Rather distantly, I’ll admit. But I blood adopted him this past summer, so my legal claim is as solid as a direct relation’s. Not to mention my status as his Soulbound.” Tom’s smile showed off that too-humanizing chip in his front tooth as he accepted the handshake with grace. “I’ve heard a great deal about your family. All good things. You and your wife are like parents to him.”

“Good to hear. Good to hear.” Mr. Weasley said as they stepped out into the courtyard. Pulling out his wand to open the gate. “Alright you lot. We’ll be headed to _Madam Malkin’s_ first to get everyone sized for school robes. Come along.”

With a hand on his shoulder and that haughty glitter in his dark eyes Tom kept close to Harry’s side as they re emerged into Diagon Alley.

“Keres?”

The young Dark Lord looked down at him. “Yes, Little One?”

“You never answered how it went. Your business in Knockturn Alley.” Harry saw Mr. Weasley glance back in alarm. “What were you doing?”

“Looking for a specific artifact. A family heirloom, to be exact, which was sold away for knuts in a relation’s time of need.” Tom said. “Though not as bad as his slimey partner, Borgin is still far from what I’d consider pleasant company. Even when he isn’t trying to upsell you on cursed Muggle jewelry. And, unfortunately, what I’d hoped to find had already been sold on though I did convince him to provide me with a name. I can only hope that they’ll be willing to part with it for the right sum.”

“Not normally one to eavesdrop,” Arthur had dropped back to walk at Tom’s other side, “but what ‘heirloom’ is this, exactly? I understand you lived abroad until recently and as such may not be aware, but Britain has strict laws regarding cursed objects and dark paraphernalia.”

“Cursed?” Tom repeated, tilting his head. “My good Sir, I assure you that what I had hoped to pry from Borgin’s wretched claws would fall more into the realm of ‘priceless antique’ than ‘dark object. If only for its intrinsic historical value.”

The phrase ‘historical value’ was sufficient to catch Hermione’s interest as well. “What historical value?”

“A great deal indeed, as it’s a Founder’s item. One of four, including the Sword of Gryffindor which Harry drew from the Sorting Hat last year.” Tom said. “The one I’m looking for is the locket of-.”

“Salazar Slytherin! Of course! You’re a Gaunt; one of the only two lines able to claim to be the direct and unbroken descendants of one of the Founders of Hogwarts. The other’s being the Smiths, of Hufflepuff.” Hermione said. “And that would make you a Parselmouth, wouldn’t it?”

Tom’s lips twitched into a reluctant half-smile. “Very good, Ms. Granger. Yes. I am. A Parselmouth and seeking the locket of my distant ancestor.” He said. “My bloodline, I’m sad to say, led to my having an unfortunate tie to a certain fallen Dark Lord who happens to be a large part of why my parents fled to Northern Europe in the first place. Though they’d likely have fared a bit better against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named than what ultimately wound up killing them.”

“Swedish Shortsnout?”

Tom shook his head. “Ironbelly, love.”

“Bloody hell!” Fred said.

“A dragon?” George said.

Exchanging grins, both twins chorused “wicked.”

“Boys!” Mr. Weasley sounded exasperated. “Apologies.”

“I was 5. I’ve no memory of them.”

They continued to walk in silence for a while before Arthur spoke again. “Durmstrang includes Dark Arts in its core curriculum, does it not?”

Tom made a distracted sound of acknowledgement and blinked at the other man. “Oh. Yes. I’ll admit with some embarrassment that it was my best subject. I received the highest O in the course that the school had ever seen.” Appearing to notice the other wizard’s grim expression, he quickly said “now, I’ve no desire to go running through the streets hexing people into oblivion or dealing in under the table contraband objects. Nor to pursue my...cousin’s path. And I’m no blood supremacist. A Dark core value alone doesn’t make you evil. And it certainly isn’t illegal.”

“True though that may be, those aligned with the ‘Dark’ aren’t well trusted in the wake of the war.” Arthur said. “For your own sake, and Harry’s, keep that in mind. Especially if you’re intending to become any sort of public figure.”

Tom nodded graciously. “Thank you. I’ll keep that much in mind as I do have plans to claim my family’s seats.” Returning his attention to Harry, the brunet wizard said “since we’ve already gotten you fitted school robes, along with the rest of your wardrobe, at _Twilfit and Tattings_ why don’t you pick out a few cloaks.”

Harry nodded as they stepped in through the door of _Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions_. Hermione Fred and George being swiftly shepherded away by Madam Malkins almost instantly. The little raven headed off to find at least one cloak he thought he might wear, knowing Tom would insist on purchasing something, but stopped just out of sight when he heard Mr. Weasley say “I didn’t want to do this out on the street but now that we’re a bit less exposed I’m going to have to ask you to show me your left arm.”

Harry quietly pushed apart a pair of robes and peered through them at the two adults. Sirius sat calmly at Tom’s feet, watching the pair, as the brunet did a good job of looking confused. Mr. Weasley had drawn his wand, but hadn’t raised it.

“My arm?” He reached up and rolled back his sleeve. Revealing the pale skin of his unmarked forearm, veins standing out starkly blue against the inside of his wrist. “I’m not certain what you’re looking for.”

Mr. Weasley sighed and stowed his wand away. Running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Keres. I don’t take accusing anyone of possibly being a Death Eater lightly, but-.”

“I understand.” He said. “You consider Harry family. You want to make certain he’s safe. In fact, I’m grateful for your concern. With how disaster prone he is it eases my worries to know I’m not the only one looking out for him.” A pause before Tom turned his head to look directly at him. “Eavesdropping?”

Harry hastily grabbed the first cloak he could get his hands on and stepped out from behind the rack. Holding it up innocently. “I found one.”

“Did you, now?” Tom stepped towards him and reached out to run his fingers through his hair. “I hadn’t realized you were such a fan of...purple?” The cloak he’d grabbed, Harry noticed belatedly, was a burning shade of violet. “You’re certain that you want to wear _that_?”

Denying it would be tantamount to admitting he had, in fact, been eavesdropping so Harry drew on his Gryffindor stubbornness and lied “I like purple.”

“Well, then, if you’re certain.” He said. “Would you like anymore?”

Harry shook his head. “This is fine.”

“Lets go and purchase it then.” Tom swept him over towards the front desk and paid for the cloak with six sickles and a knut. Gently cinching it around his neck and turning it red with a wink.

Hermione and the twins finished being fitted for their robes a moment later and they left _Madam Malkins_ behind. Heading for _Flourish and Blotts_ , where Harry periodically looked up to find Tom thumbing through a copy of _The Tales of Beedle the Bard_ and examining a wizard chess set in Gryffindor House colors. They spent another few hours picking up general bits and bobs-ink and parchment, new quills, a handful of potion ingredients-before returning to _The Leaky Cauldron_ and dropping off their hauls in their respective rooms the headed to the lower floor for dinner. Tom blending in with an ease that only a Slytherin could ever hope to accomplish, smiling demurely precisely where it best suited him while he juggled conversation with Percy and Mr. Weasley. Periodically pushing Sirius’ efforts to steal food from his plate away and levitating additional portions onto Harry’s whenever he wasn’t looking. Smirking at the raven whenever he sent a glare in his direction.

When they finally managed to escape their companions, and the door swung shut behind them, Harry was treated to the sight of Tom pulling his outer robe up over his head. His dark brown curls attractively rumpled and his blue eyes glittering. “Ready for bed?”

The broom was still sitting amid a pile of torn wrapping on top of the bed. The _single_ bed. The significance of which hadn’t registered on Harry before but now hit him with enough force to turn his face as red as his new cloak. “Er.”

“ _Arf!”_

Tom fixed Sirius in an annoyed glare. “Bugger off, Black! He’s 13. And I have no desire for company, especially not _your_ company, when the time comes that we will be doing that.”

“Woof!”

“I’d hope you wouldn’t _want_ to see that! Because then I’d have to _kill you_!” The young Dark Lord snapped, tossing his outer robe carelessly across the back of a chair. “It’s merely a matter of wanting him close while we’re not at the manor; nothing short of those wards, aside from maybe Hogwarts’, is safe!” Turning his gaze on Harry, he said with marked reluctance. “If it makes you uncomfortable I’ll transfigure it into two beds.”

Face getting even hotter, the younger wizard shook his head. “‘S fine.”

Tom made a satisfied purring sound and stretched himself across the bed. The first few buttons of his shirt undone, revealing just the right amount of collar bone. “Come, love.” The older wizard took his hand and drew him onto the bed beside him. “Black. Floor!”

“Come on, Tom. Can’t Sirius at least sleep on the foot of the bed?”

The young Dark Lord narrowed his eyes at him, but gave in with a huff. The dog animagus leapt up to join them, licked Harry’s hand in thanks and curled up at their feet. The raven barely managed to settle himself on the mattress before the older wizard took his arm and pulled him against his side without a word. Harry hid his face in Tom’s chest, certain his cheeks would be glowing otherwise, and breathed in the by now familiar smell of peppermint and citrus. Eyes drifting closed to his soulbond’s even breathing.


	12. An Unexpected Visitor

“Not used to seeing you so early in the morning.” Ron didn’t respond to her immediately as he edged into the room. A cautious eye kept on Crookshanks who lifted one of his paws and began to daintily clean his whiskers. “Something the matter?”

“I’m worried about Harry.” 

The bushy haired witch tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t we just have the conversation yesterday about what soulbounds were and why there wasn’t an issue because of his-.”

“This has nothing to do with age, Hermione.” Ron said. Glancing back at the closed door as if expecting Keres to kick it down at any moment. “You know how Ginny was dragged down into the chamber last year? Well, before that the bleeding diary showed her things. And she saw what he looked like. As a school boy.”

“He?”

“You-Know-Who.” The red head seemed to now be convinced that the paint on the walls were conspiring to conceal eavesdroppers. 

“You think Keres is the thing that came out of the diary? But Harry said-.”

“He’s too old to be the diary but Ginny is pretty convinced.”

“He could just look similar, Ron. With how interrelated the British wizarding community is it wouldn’t be too far fetched.”

“It’s not just looks. His voice. The way he speaks. The way he holds himself. The thing he does when he's irritated when his lip curls up over his canines. Ginny says it’s all identical.”

“And you believe her?”

“She’s my sister. Of course I believe her.”

“And Harry is your best friend but you don’t believe his word that Keres isn’t Tom Riddle?”

“He might not be right in the head. Dark magic can do that. Make you do things. Say things.”

“You think he’s under the Imperius Curse?”

“I don’t think he knows who he is; that he’d lie about it.”

“But he can’t hurt him?”

“Not if they’re really soulbound. No.” 

“Can we know for certain?”

He shook his head. “No, but he definitely displays the signs though.”

“Possessiveness?”

“Well, it’s not normally a ‘niffler on trinket’ thing.”

Hermione sighed and pushed her bangs back from her face. “If he can’t hurt him then we should sit on this until we can talk to Dumbledore. We’ll be at Hogwarts tonight.”

“You want to sit on it? Why?”

“Think about it, Ron. Honestly.” Hermione reached out towards her cat as Crookshanks leapt up onto the bed. “If you’re right, then Ginny is right, and Keres Alexos is the most powerful Dark Wizard to ever live. What do you expect two students with only two years of magical education to draw on to be able to do against him?”

Ron huffed and folded his arms but acquiesced. “I guess that’s true.”

Footsteps thudded outside the door before anything else could be said. The last voice they’d wanted to hear issuing from behind the wood a moment later.

“I hope the two of you packed your trunks last night as we’re headed to the station in an hour.” Keres said. “I’ve been sent to retrieve you for breakfast.”

The pair exchanged looks and rose cautiously from the bed. “Better not to keep him waiting.” 

The older wizard had dressed that day in a simple, though well made black robe and regarded them with a polite disinterest as they opened the door. 

“Good morning. I have something for each of you; I saw them while we were school shopping and from Harrison’s descriptions thought they’d be of interest.” He said. “Open them at the table; come down and eat.”

Without further adieu and with a flourish only seen previously in Snape he turned and swept back down the hall. The top of his head disappeared from sight a moment later.

It was Ron’s growling stomach that eventually broke the silence.

“Well,” He said, “nothing wrong with breakfast is there?”

Hermione hoisted the kneazle into her arms with an exasperated sigh.

Keres had resumed what must have been his previous seat, beside Harry, who was sitting with Snuffles’ head on his lap. The twins were seated to the brunet’s other side, animatedly discussing the older man’s belief that a little black book titled _Obscurely Legal_ would aid their pranking endeavors. Ginny had gone out of her way in ensuring everyone else present formed a barricade between her and the suspect Dark Lord and consistently had ended up directly across from him at the far end of the table, but her wide eyed looks were dutifully ignored. Two seats had been left for them on Harry’s other side.

“Go on and open them.” Keres sounded half distracted. His gloved hand brushing the hair back from the little raven’s forehead and prompting him to lean more heavily into his side. 

Ron’s package contained a well made wizard’s chess set with tiles inlaid with scarlet and gold. Hermione’s held two books: _Sacred Days_ and _The Tales of Beedle the Bard._ “I was told that Mr. Weasley enjoyed the game and thought he could do with a proper set. They were selling them in house colors at _Flourish and Blotts._ Which is where I also picked up those books for you, Ms. Granger. Something to read on the train: one details the four sacred days of the magical calendar and the other is a collection of children’s stories from our world. I thought they’d be informative as Harry tells me Hogwarts doesn’t teach our traditions.”

“Oh, I… thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you Keres” Hermione had vanished behind the cover of _Sacred Days_ a moment later.

“Told you that you’d like her.” 

“Eat your food, Little One.” He said. “I never had a problem with your friends.”

Harry finished eating a moment later and, after being forced to take his potions by Tom, spent the rest of breakfast comfortably curled into the older wizard’s side. Getting to his feet only reluctantly when it came time for them to go.

“You’re not happy to be going back?” Tom asked over the clamor of Mr. Weasley directing everyone to collect their trunks. 

“I am.” 

“Yet, you aren’t.”

Harry bit his lip and Tom tracked the motion with keen interest. “This is the first time I’ve ever truly enjoyed the summer.” He could feel his face turning pink again. “And you won’t be there.”

“I’ll write, Little One. Whenever I am able.” Gently, he dragged a knuckle along his jaw. “You are to focus on your schooling. I will do all that I can to be present for Yule so that we can celebrate Death’s day together, and I will attend at least one of your matches but I may miss Samhain in which case alternate arrangements will have to be found. I won’t have you missing a sacred day in favor of a Muggle one.”

Harry wasn’t quite certain he wanted to know what those alternative arrangements might end up being but thought he could guess.

Spending any holiday with the ferret git wasn’t his idea of fun. 

“It seems the chosen means of getting to the station is apparating directly onto the platform.” Tom said. “You’ll want to go with me?” The raven's response was wrapping his arms around his waist and squeezing. A soft purr of laughter rumbled in his chest as he grabbed Sirius by the furry scruff and held out his other hand. “I can take one more if you’d like to accompany us Ms. Granger.”

Hermione hesitated. “I’ve never apparated before.”

“Harry has only done it once and as I’m sure you can tell he’s not fond of it. Likes the floo better, even though he lands about as gracefully as a pissed demiguise.” Harry’s hand met his chest with a dull smack sound. Tom laughed. “It’s perfectly safe as passengers only rarely get splinched.”

With the expected reticence of someone sticking their hand in a lions mouth, the bushy haired witches reached out and allowed Tom’s fingers to rap around her hand.

“Now hold tightly. The last we want is someone to lose their grip. Now, on the count of three. One. Two. Three!” He spun on the spot. Feeling his way to a crack in reality and then slipping through it, reappearing beside the other two adults and releasing his hold in Sirius to steady Harry against him. His other arm flexing against Hermione's weight as she stumbled, caught herself, and stepped away. “Both of you alright?”

Nods and grumbles. The cherry red engine expelled a puff of steam and whistled shrilly from the tracks. Tom smoothed his hair down once more and nudged him towards the train. “Go on. Or you’ll miss the chance to choose your own compartment. Write to me once you’re safely in and have seen your classes.”

“I will.” Harry looked up at the older wizard. “: **_Goodbye Tom.:”_ **

“Goodbye, my Little Horntail. For now.” With another encouraging push and a yap from Sirius Harry, reluctantly and dragging his trunk behind, headed for the train. Suddenly finding himself with the itch to stroke away his own nervousness at the raven’s sudden departure and with his familiar left behind at the manor to avoid starting a panic-Runespoores were dark creatures after all-he found himself left with no choice but to let his fingers worry at the dog beside him. Black meanwhile seemed to be contemplating biting him. 

“The first time seeing them off is always the worst, dear. But Harry will be fine. Hogwarts is the safest place in Britain.” The safest place in Britain was Slytherin Manor. “Why don’t you come around the Burrow for some tea, Keres?”

He turned and smiled demurely. “I’m afraid I’ll have to pass on that lovely offer, Molly. I’ve a great deal of travel planned these next few months that I still need to pack for and I’ve a meeting to attend tomorrow with the Wizengamot. I still need-ah, Lucius. I’d hoped to run into you.”

“Keres.” The Malfoy Lord greeted him with a respectful nod, silver eyes turning onto the Weasleys as they stiffened. “Molly. Arthur.”

“Malfoy.” There was a growl in Arthur’s voice. “Civility from you is unexpected. Something changed?”

“A certain influential young Lord busted down my manor gates a few months ago and sat my wife and I don’t for a long conversation about how Magic is Magic, and how division leaves us weak in the face of the threat posed by the Muggle world.” He held out a hand. “What say you?”

The red headed man made no effort to hide his disgust and stared at the offered hand like the Malfoy Lord had attempted to hand him something dead. “We’ve no desire to associate with anyone who wears the Dark Mark.” Arthur spat. “Be careful with this one, Keres.” With that, he turned and led his wife away.

“Your efforts to make peace do well to prove you took my words seriously.” He watched the pair disappear into the crowd. “I am pleased.”

“My Lord?”

“Come.” He turned and began weaving his way towards the apparition point. “Snuffles, go to Hogsmeade and make sure Harrison stays well. Lucius, join me for tea; there are a few matters I’d like to iron out with you before tomorrow’s meeting.”

The narrow corridors of the express hadn’t changed in the few months since he’d last seen them. Still long and crowded and almost claustrophobic. Still lined in the folding doors with opaque windows which marked out separate compartments. Still carrying the mingling scents of broom polish and text books and ink which had come to make up the smell of the first place he’d called home. Though it was no longer the only place.

Tom had once called Hogwarts home too. 

Dragging his trunk behind him Harry followed Ron and Hermione into the nearest compartment which had the space to fit them. Neville glanced up to greet them with a nervous smile.

“H-Hi guys.”

“Hey, Neville.” Hermione said. “Mind if we sit with you?”

“You’re welcome to.” The other boy said as Harry and Ron moved to put up their trunks. The raven sliding his wand into the sheath on his wrist before sitting down.

“Did something happen, Harry?” Neville asked. “You’re dressed differently.”

Harry glanced down at the button up and slacks he’d put on that morning and sighed. “Keres won’t accept any Muggle clothing within three miles of him that doesn’t look like it came from a business meeting.” He said. “I’d have worn a robe if I’d known we were apparating.”

“Keres?”

“My cousin.” Harry dropped into the seat beside Ron. “And soulbound. Adopted me over the summer.”

“Wow, Harry.” Neville said. “That’s really rare. You’re lucky. What’s he like?”

“Bloody brilliant, Nev.” He said. “Keres is a bit prickly to most people but the worst he’s ever done is glare at me. And he’s hands on when it comes to making sure I have what I need, and filling in the gaps in my education. He’s friends with the Goblins and has been helping me learn to tell when I’m hearing or speaking in Parseltongue.”

“He’s a Parselmouth?” Neville had started to sound worried.

“Yes. His familiar is a Runespoor.” Frowning slightly at the other wizard, he asked. “Do you think I’m Dark just because I can speak to snakes?” Neville shook his head. “Then please don’t think ill of Keres for the same ability.”

“He _is_ Dark, though. By his own admission.” Hermione said. 

Harry huffed. “Grey-Dark.”

“I don’t think anyone who has the highest scoring O in Durmstrangs history in the subject can really be considered Grey anything, Harry.”

“That doesn’t make him evil!”

Taken a bit off guard by his defensiveness she raised her hands placatingly. “I never said he was.”

Neville was trying desperately not to smile. “I’m not surprised he’s as Dark as they come. The stories all say soulbounds are supposed to be opposites.” He said. “I think you’re lucky it didn’t end up being You-Know-Who.”

_Well, Neville. Funny that you say that._ Harry cast around for another subject and hoped he hadn’t made too obvious a face. Green eyes landing on the huddled form against the window that he hadn’t really paid attention to before; adults didn’t usually take the express. “Anyone know who he is?”

“Professor R.J. Lupin.” All three of the boys fixed Hermione in a bewildered stare. “Oh, honestly. It’s written on his briefcase.”

That it was. Clearing his throat, and in the interest of keeping the conversation going, he said. “Where did you get the tiger?”

“Crookshanks? Why, _The Magical Menagerie_ of course.” Really? He hadn’t seen him while visiting the place with Tom. Granted, he hadn’t been looking for cats. “Where did you find the bear?”

“Snuffles isn’t a bear.”

“Bear?” Ron grunted. “He looks like the bloody Grim!”

“Grim?” Hermione repeated. But Harry was no longer listening. His gaze drawn to the twitch of the bundled man in the corner which hinted he might not quite be asleep after all. But before he could begin to contemplate what that might mean the door of their compartment slid open with a clatter and he found himself staring up into the pinched features of Draco Malfoy.


	13. Fear on the Express

The atmosphere in the compartment was suddenly tense enough to crack with a mallet. The thin blonde watched them, silver eyes flickering almost skittishly between them before stopping on Harry. Ignoring Ron’s glare. The hulking forms of Crabbe and Goyle noticeably absent. 

“What the bloody hell are _you_ doing here?” The red head demanded. “We don’t have room in this compartment for slimy snakes. Or ferrets.”

The Slytherin ignored him. “Potter.” He said. “A word?”

Hermione was the one to intervene this time. Taking hold of Harry’s wrist as if to hold him in place were a sudden attempt to drag him away made. “He doesn’t have to do anything with you.”

All three Gryffindors looked up in surprise when he rose. “It’s alright.” He said. “I’ll just see what he wants.”

“Harry?” Neville asked.

“It’s alright, Nev.” He assured the other boy. “I can handle Malfoy.”

His friends seemed in no way convinced but didn’t make further moves to stop him. He followed Draco into the hall. 

“The compartment two down from this one is empty.” He brushed past him towards the indicated door and Harry could do little more than follow him. “We’ll talk there.”

The mentioned compartment was just as empty as promised. The door rattling shut and latching behind them with a clank. Draco didn’t immediately turn to face him, staring out the window at the passing countryside, and Harry took advantage of the reprieve to lower himself onto one of the benches. Fingering the handle of his wand where it protruded from the sheath on his wrist but not drawing it. Finally, when the silence became too much and just as Harry was about to break it himself Draco spoke again.

“I know who Keres is.”

Tom has told him Lucius had agreed to keep silent from Draco regarding his true identity. The notion the other boy could know came as a surprise and it was all Harry could do to hold himself back from blurting out “you do?” Instead, doing his best to draw on his inner Slytherin, he asked “I’m sorry?”

The other boy was not amused. “You’re going to have to play at being a snake much better than that if you want to fool me, Potter.” With a careless grace-though it in no way rivaled Tom’s-Draco dropped onto the opposite bench. “Contrary to what most may think I have more intelligence than what’s required to say ‘wait till father hears about this’. My parents don’t want me knowing who he is. I don’t think he does either. But it’s clear from the way they act around him, and from what I overhead a few days back, that he’s really the Dark Lord.”

Harry narrowed his eyes. “Is this supposed to be some sort of blackmail attempt, Malfoy.”

“Blackmail?” He snorted. “As if I’d ever be stupid enough to antagonize him. I always wanted to be your friend, Potter. The slight you gave me by snubbing that dictated I couldn’t try again but this provides extenuating circumstances.” Like he had two years before, Draco extended a hand. “Truce?”

Harry eyed the other boy's hand like it might bite him. “This isn’t going to make us friends.”

“I’m aware.” He said. “But I think it will come to be in my best interest to have a less adversarial relationship with the Dark Consort.”

Well, fair enough to that. Tom could certainly be over protective and constantly fighting with Harry even over something petty would probably ultimately get him tortured or worse. 

“He’s not a blood supremacist.” Malfoy gave him a disbelieving look. “Really. He’s a _magic_ supremacist. He doesn’t have a problem with my friends and that means you can’t either.”

“My problem with Weasley is a family feud, not his blood traitor status. But I can tolerate Granger.”

Still hesitant, Harry nevertheless found himself reaching out to take the offered hand. Draco’s grip was light and his fingers were cold.

“What about the other Slytherins?” He asked. “What will they think when their ice prince is suddenly getting along with Harry Potter?”

“What they think or don’t think isn’t our concern.” Draco sniffed. “ _My_ family has always taken great pride in our allegiance to the Dark Lord. My grandfather was his first servant. My father was the one he went to first, as Keres, to rebuild. _I_ am going to continue proving our worth to him by watching you while he can’t so don’t do anything stupid this year.”

“What’s wrong, Draco? Where’s your sense of adventure?” Harry’s mind helpfully provided the mental image of Draco hissing at Snape like an agitated ferret and he nearly lost composure. 

“Firmly restrained by my good sense. Unlike a certain Gryffindor I know.” He said dryly. “Go back to your compartment, before your friends become suspicious.”

As much as it might nettle him to admit it Draco had something of a point. Ron and Hermione were sure to become concerned enough to go looking for him quite quickly. He got to his feet but the other boy didn’t move. 

“Aren’t you going to go back to the Slytherin end of the train?”

Draco looked up at him briefly before returning his gaze to the window. “I think I’ll stay here for a bit. Quieter.”

Harry just shrugged and left the compartment to return to his friends. Only to immediately question whether staying back with Malfoy would have been a better alternative as Ron and Hermione both assailed him with questions before he could even close the door.

“What did Malfoy want anyway?”

The little raven looked at his best friend as he reclaimed his seat. “He wanted a truce. I agreed to it.”

“You _what_?” Ron demanded, going red in the face.

“Why would Malfoy want a truce?” Hermione asked. “Harry, think this through. His father tried to kill you last year.”

“And this year he’s trying to get on Keres’ good side. He probably talked Draco into it because he worried I’d complain.”

This answer seemed to satisfy Hermione, at least partially, but Ron was still very much displeased. “But why did you agree to it?”

Because Malfoy was someone he didn’t have to hide from. Because he hoped he’d be able to keep the other snakes contained. “Because I have enough to worry about always running into some form of Voldemort,” Neville let out a strangled squawk, “without fighting with Draco too.”

“I think that’s rather adult of both of you Harry.” Hermione praised. Ron was much less pleased and turned away from him. Harry could already tell his friend likely wouldn’t say another word to him until they reached the school, if not after.

Harry just sighed. “He said he’d lay off on the insults towards your blood status as well, Hermione, but when I asked him to lay off Ron as well he just told me that it was more than being ‘blood traitors’ that made their families have problems with each other.” He said. “I don’t know what he meant.”

“It’s probably some manner of nonsense, honestly.” Hermione said.

“It might seem like it to those outside of Pureblood circles,” Neville said, “but inside them it’s actually pretty serious. The Malfoys and the Weasleys are both members of the Sacred 28, the oldest and purest lines in Britain, but the Weasleys took issue and claimed to not only have multiple Muggles in their lines but to be proud of it. And the Malfoys viewed that as a slight so they started a feud which labeled them as blood traitors. About three generations later the Malfoy family tried to extend an olive branch and marry off a third daughter of theirs to one of the Weasley’s sons.”

“And they rejected them?” 

Neville nodded.

Harry ran a hand across his face and huffed. “Bloody hell. Knowing how proud the ferret and his git father have always been that probably ended any hope of them ever getting along.” 

“Disliking someone's entire line because of something their ancestor did to your ancestor is ridiculous! And certainly not a good reason to constantly fling insults at each other.”

“Lucius tried to kill Ginny last year by giving her Voldemort’s” Neville squeaked again, “diary. I think tension between them after that is rather fair.” If someone had done something like that to Tom, or Merlin forbid any child he might one day have had, Harry would do a hell of a lot worse than Hex them up and down. 

“I’m not saying disliking _Lucius_ for what he did to Ginny isn’t fair.” Hermione said. “What I am saying is that the sins of the father should not be the cross of the son.”

“Draco is a prat, regardless of his sudden turn around to want to leave us bloody well alone, and this truce doesn’t make me his friend. Nor does it mean that I have anything close to good feelings about him. So, Ron, if you could please-!” The express gave a sudden lurch beneath them and Harry narrowly avoided biting his own tongue off as he was thrown against the doorframe of the compartment. His head clattering against the wood, leaving his glasses askew. The train shuddered and squeaking against the rails as it lost momentum and rolled to a stop.

“Bloody hell!” Ron groused. Pushing himself back upright in his seat and looking around like a disgruntled owl. “Why did we stop? And why did we stop like _that_?”

“Don’t know.” Neville said. “There’s no way that we could have reached school already.”

Harry wasn’t really listening to the conversation going on around him. Too focused on the flickering of the overhead light outside. Of the too-thick darkness beyond the frost which crawled across the window’s glass. At the sudden, bone deep, horrible chill which had settled inside and over and around him and made his breath rise in puffs of silver. Outside of their compartment, something moved. A dark, floating mass which grasped the handle of the door and shifted it aside. A faint but rapidly strengthening high pitched ringing noise rising in his ears as long, rotted talons closed around the side of the door and budged it further open. Revealing a hooded figure, floating without feet above the ground; a mass of ragged cloth and rotting flesh which sucked in the wintry air with rattling breaths. Swooping towards him, claws raised.

Harry didn’t have the chance to raise his wand as the noise, at that moment, exploded into a thunderous volume. Identifiable, at last, as someone screaming. A woman, screaming. Pleading. Begging someone, or something, to ‘please take me and leave my son alone’. A high, unnatural voice demanding her to move. A flash of green light behind his eyelids. A flash of silver from outside them. He crumpled to the ground.

And then there was nothing but the silence and the dark.

The little raven jerked awake either a few moments or a few hours later, propped back up in his seat in the compartment with the lights once more strongly shining and the frost gone from the glass. He could hear his friends hissing whispers nearby, worriedly, but couldn’t see them. His vision blurry. His glasses-adjusted to the proper prescription that summer past by Tom, agitated as ever by any reminders of his mistreatment-no longer on his face and a blurry form leaning over him. Something rectangular and brown in color pushed into his face.

“Eat. You’ll feel better.” A man’s voice that he didn’t recognize. His mind, still slowly spinning up, supplied the notion that it likely belonged to the adult wizard who’d been ‘asleep’ in their compartment: Professor R.J. Lupin. “Don’t worry. It’s chocolate.” 

Everything was cold and sore and those horrible screams were still ringing faintly in his ears. A woman. His mother. And Voldemort. Harry shuddered, took the chocolate and shoved it into his mouth before putting his glasses back on. Finally getting a good look at the man now that he wasn’t curled up any longer. His robes were well taken care of, though obviously old as they’d been darned in several places. Scars that looked like claw marks cut sideways over his face and his blonde hair, despite his evident youth, was flecked in grey. He was tall, around 6 feet like Tom, maybe slightly taller, and his eyes were brown and warm. “Thanks.” He glanced over at his three friends, who looked back at him with worried eyes but didn’t move, and then asked the man “That thing. What was it?”

“That,” the wizard said grimly, “was a Dementor. One of the-.”

“Guards of Azkaban.” 

He seemed surprised. “You know of them?”

“My soulbound mentioned them. Over the summer.” Harry shifted in discomfort under the sudden scrutiny. “He said that they guard the prison. That they can’t die so the Ministry has no means of destroying them, only containing them. That they make you see your worst fears and darkest memories so that they can feed on them. That they take souls. And that the only way to drive them off is with a Patronus Charm.” He turned green eyes on the man again. “That silver light. That was a Patronus, wasn’t it?”

“It was indeed.” The man was smiling now. The expression didn’t make him look any less tired, but it still lit up his features. “Your soulbound is very smart.”

He really had no idea. “Keres also said that only very powerful witches and wizards could cast them.”

“A fully corporeal one, perhaps.” The man said. “Though that wasn’t necessary tonight, thankfully.”

“But you can cast one?”

His lips twitched again. “I’m no Albus Dumbledore, Harry.”

Modesty never did anyone harm, though Tom would likely insist otherwise. It was at that moment that Hermione spoke again. “If those things, the Dementors, are the guards of the wizarding prison what were they doing on the express? Why were they in our compartment?”

Any hint of warmth and color drained from his face, leaving it sharp and cold. “Sirius Black.”

“The murderer who escaped over the summer?” Ron asked. “The Death Eater?”

His Godfather was innocent. And he’d only suffered for so long because of Dumbledore. Dumbledore who would have left him in that hellhole, guarded by those _things_ for the rest of his life all so that Harry could suffer in a different sort of prison. All so that he could be molded into the perfect tool to play his part in whatever the headmaster believed was ‘right’. His fingers curled against his palms and his knuckles turned white but he fought to keep the anger off his face and out of the set of his shoulders. Doubted he succeeded much, since he was 13 and controlling his emotions wasn’t exactly a strong point of his at the moment.

Expectedly, the older wizard noticed. “He’ll be caught, Harry. Never you worry.” He said. “Dumbledore won’t allow him or anyone else to put you in danger.”

The smile he managed was rictus and thin. “I know.” As he curled up in his seat to wait out what remained of the train ride, Harry couldn’t help but wonder if he’d have been better off taking Tom up on the offer to transfer him to Beauxbatons.

After the incident on the train the tension surrounding Harry’s decision to truce with Draco seemed to have been forgotten, though her raven haired friend remained quiet throughout the rest of the train ride and the beginning of the year feast in which the presence of the Dementors on the school grounds had been announced by Dumbledore. Who Harry, when he hadn’t been staring almost blankly at the plate of food in front of him, had tried and failed to keep himself from glaring at.

That was very strange, and just further added onto the top of her and Ron’s concerns surrounding Keres’ intentions and true identity. 

The headmaster seemed to have some inkling, in that mysterious way of his, that they had a desire to speak with him as he’d caught her eye with a bowl of ice mice mid-way through the feast. After bidding a rather confused Harry farewell and taking Ron firmly by the wrist, Hermione parted from the flood of students headed back towards the tower and dragged him to the proper corridor.

“Shouldn’t we have waited until morning, ‘Mione?” Ron asked once she’d released him, out front of the gargoyle blocking the staircase to his office. “We’ll be here all night guessing what the password is.”

“Don’t be foolish, Ronald!” She turned to face the gargoyle and barked “ice mice!” at it. Leading the statue to leap aside. “Come on. We don’t want to get caught out after curfew on the first night back so we need to make this quick!”

Grumbling something under his breath about how she ‘still needed to get her bloody priorities straight’ he followed her up the curving staircase to knock on the door at the top. Stepping inside once they were called to enter.

Dumbledore sat serenely behind his desk, surrounded by a variety of sparkling whirring spindly objects the functions of which she could never hope to guess, dressed in a purple robe adorned with a pattern of crescent moons. Fawkes sat atop his perch and ruffled his red and golden feathers in greeting.

“Ah, Ms. Granger. Mr. Weasley. Welcome. Welcome back.” Over the rims of his glasses, the headmaster’s expression became abruptly serious. “I believe you had concerns to bring me regarding the nature of Harry’s newest guardian?”

How he did this sort of thing Hermione doubted she’d ever understand. “Keres Alexos is Dark, by his own admission. And Harry’s made comments about him associating with Lucius Malfoy. I’m worried that he might have been a supporter of some sort, if not a marked Death Eater. Not to mention that he’s considerably older than Harry and the whole ‘soulbound’ business and what it eventually entails makes me nervous.” Hermione said. “And Ron tells me that Ginny thinks Keres is actually You Know Who.”

“A soulbound bond is a rare thing, Ms. Granger. And a great privilege, as it gives the bonded someone able to understand them on a level no one else could ever hope to; one in magic as they are. No harm will come to him from it, though I can understand your worry for your friend. For now, know that Harry is happy where he is and accept his choices as driving him away will do nothing to aid him if something does go wrong.”

“Of course, Sir.”

“Now, regarding young Ms. Weasley’s concerns that Keres Alexos Peverell is in fact Tom Marvolo Riddle...leave such things to me. The man, some might even say the monster, who called himself the Dark Lord is not to be trifled with. Certainly not for students such as yourselves.” He said. “I will look into the matter, and see what can be found of him and his intentions. If such concerns are founded, disaster may well be abated. If they are not, I often find it is better to apologize for one’s mistakes than look the other way in fear of causing offense. Now,” his blue eyes-paler than the darkly colored man who’d coiled himself around her friend like some sort of massive snake-shinned with something that might have been amusement, “I believe the two of you should be heading to bed. If you leave now, you’ll make it back to the tower in time to avoid treading on curfew. The password, I believe, is currently Fortuna Major.”

“Thank you, Sir. Goodnight.” Hermione said. “Come on, Ronald. We don’t want to get caught by Filch or his horrible cat!”

Dumbledore watched them go with a faint smile on his face. A smile which faded away into something sad as the door of his office swung shut behind them. For a moment the room was silent aside from the repetitive _click click click_ of the devices surrounding him. Then he reached into the top drawer of his desk and pulled out the leather bound diary, mangled beyond repair by the fangs of a basilisk and with its cover stained by a substance neither ink nor blood but both. Running a quivering finger along the letters embossed in gold along the bottom. _Tom Marvolo Riddle._ “You were a boy.” A boy who’d learned to hate, instead of love. A boy who, in his pain, had leaned into that hatred and wrapped himself in it like a cloak until it devoured him. A boy he’d looked down on as he’d drowned and hadn’t helped. “You were a boy who made all the wrong choices. But you were not the only one who chose wrong, back then. Maybe this time we can both make different ones.” He set the book down atop the wood with a muted thump. “Time will tell.”

Beside him, on his perch, Fawkes whistled softly.


	14. A Falling Out

On Tom’s advice and at the behest of the too fresh memories of what sort of nonsense the revelation of his ability to speak to snakes had led to, Harry had left Helios behind at Slytherin manor. But after so long waking up without his serpentine companion coiled up beside his head, or atop him somewhere beneath the duvet, struck him as incredibly strange. This was also the first day since the start of summer that he’d be waking up without any chance of seeing Tom. Nor would he have Sirius with him. He was alone, if surrounded by his friends and classmates and professors, and the reality of that much sent a pang of shuddering loneliness through him. Harry flung his feet out of his red and golden four poster in Gryffindor tower and winced when his toes met with the cold ground.

Attaching his sheathed wand to his wrist and pushing his glasses back onto his face Harry changed out of his sleep clothes and slipped his school robes on over a pale blue button down. Picking up his bag and shoving all of his books into it-not certain which class he’d have first and not wanting to have to return to get them-along with the two potions he had to take each morning inside. Making a mostly failed effort to force his hair into submission while Ron, Neville, Dean and Seamus dragged themselves out of their own beds.

“How the bloody hell are you so awake right now?” the red head grumbled, Scabbers squeaking on his shoulder.

“Keres wasn’t much of one for sleeping in and if I wanted to eat breakfast with him instead of on my own I had to wake up early too.”

Ron grumbled something about ‘crazy’ and ‘mornings’ but full context was consumed by a cavernous yawn.

“Harry,” Dean piped up from the other side of the room. “Whose Keres?”

“My cousin.” Harry said. “He found me at the end of last year and took me in.”

“Don’t get him started.” Ron grumbled. “He gets all goo-goo eyed like Ginny did whenever she saw him last year.

“Wha-?  _ I do not!” _ Considering his face was hot enough to cook an egg, he probably did.

Neville chuckled. “They’re soulbound and I don’t think he’s over it yet.”

“I’m going to see if Hermione is ready to head down for breakfast!” Harry grabbed the strap of his bag and took off down the steps into the common room. Hermione, Crookshanks taking up the whole of her lap, was sitting in a cushy chair beside the fireplace and looked up at him in concern.

“Something wrong?”

Well aware his face was still the color of their House’s banner Harry said “I’m fine, ‘Mione.”

“They found out about Keres and are giving you trouble?” his huff seemed to be all the confirmation that she needed. Hermione smiled at him. “I know that we’re worried about certain aspects and that you’re probably not terribly pleased about that but we’re happy for you. Merlin knows you deserve to have something good after all that you’ve gone through.”

Despite the weight of his embarrassment Harry smiled. “Thanks, Hermione. It really means a lot.”

“Keres seems nice.” She said. “And certainly seems hellbent on burying you in everything you could ever think to want or need. Is it strange, being away from him?”

How the bloody hell did she just look at him and  _ know _ ? Was it a woman thing? “There were a couple days where he had things to take care of that took him out of the house, or left him locked up in his office, but I always saw him at least once. Breakfast. Dinner. Something.”

“He’d go out of his way to have meals with you?”

Harry nodded. “It seemed important to him to eat together at least one daily.” He said. “He also tried to teach me everything he could about history and magical theory that he feels Hogwarts doesn’t cover properly. Or at all. He told me about the other European schools: Durmstrang and Beauxbatons. About the Triwizard Tournament. About the distant relation between Dragons and snakes. Pureblood customs and magical holidays. Azkaban and the Dementors and the Patronus Charm. He knows all about Muggle mythology too.”

Crookshanks’ big amber eyes stared out at him from the kneazle-cat’s smushed face. “I don’t think I’ve seen you this happy since we met.”

“I don’t think I’ve been this happy in my life.” Tom wasn’t a good man. Had warned him of that much. And never would be. But he was good to Harry. And he was really starting to believe that the older wizard’s belief in personal right and wrong rather than good and evil was right.

Ron thudded down the dormitory steps behind them, Scabbers left behind in the safety of his bed, and announced “let’s go down to breakfast. I’m starving!” so loudly that the three fifth years huddled on the opposite side of the room looked up to glare at him.

“Honestly, Ronald. Is food all that you think about?” Hermione grumbled, releasing her cat to claim another nearby chair for himself.

Harry shook his head and followed his friends out of the common room and down to the great hall, stepping over the trick step without much thought, and seating himself in his usual place between them at the Gryffindor table. Tucking his bag under the bench. Ignoring the friendly bickering between the pair, he prepared himself a light breakfast just as the morning post swooped in through the open windows. Munnin descended in front of him with a thump and a harsh caw.

“A raven?”

Knowing better than to go for the mail immediately Harry handed the stately black bird a strip of bacon and then untied the heavy letter from its leg. “Keres doesn’t like owls.” When he went to open the letter, though, it lifted from his hands and-much like the Howler Mrs. Weasley had sent Ron the year prior, though it didn’t scream-began to speak in Tom’s voice. The tone one of cold fury which made everyone who heard it cringe and turn to look.

“Dementors? On the school grounds? Halting the bloody express? Boarding it and freely entering a compartment full of underage students? I’ll be attending my first Wizengamot meeting today, Little One, and when I get my hands on that great plonking  _ imbecile  _ who dares to call himself the British Minister for Magic bowler hats will roll! If only because heads cannot, due to the murder of high profile political officials being a frowned upon practice in this country.” The letter hissed, forming as it spoke into a mouth with a forked tongue. Fangs made of paper catching the light, leading Harry to wonder if such a variant of Howler was capable of biting. “I’ll be traveling around the British Isles after today but will still be within range of contact by owl should you need me. Send me the date of your first match and I’ll do my best to be present for it. Stay  _ away _ from the Dementors on the grounds and write me about your new classes and precisely how that damned monster of a book is meant to be tamed enough that it doesn’t chase you up onto the table for the crime of attempting to read it. Also, Lucius has sent something along for you on my behalf: Draco should be over to deliver the box soon. Eat one. I don’t care if they already gave you chocolate at the Hospital Wing. Keep the rest on you at all times until those  _ things _ have been removed. I’ll be back at the manor for Yule, if I don’t see you for Samhain. Enjoy your first day back and endeavor to do well in your classes.”

Without further ceremony the letter folded itself again and Munnin snatched it up in his beak before flying to the head table and dropping it in front of Dumbledore where the purpose of the teeth became plain.

“A biting letter?” Fred and George dropped into the bench across from them.

“And meant for Dumbledore, too?”

“That man of yours, Harrykins-.”

“Has some serious guts.”

“Though something tells me-.”

“He wouldn’t have been a Gryffindor-.”

“Even with that-.”

“Had he gone here. For more reason than just blood.”

Up at the head table, the letter erupted into flames and Munnin took wing again with a cackle. This time leaving the hall. “He’s a little over protective.” Harry frowned at his plate of toast. “ _ Very _ overprotective.”

“And very specific about wanting ‘the best’. Hence why mother had these mailed in from Switzerland.” A black box with lettering in a language Harry had never seen was set in front of him. Ron turned to glare at Draco while the twins looked on curiously. “Not easy to do on short notice, but in the interest of our alliance with your guardian it was managed.”

“Thank you, Draco.” He grumbled. “You can go back to Slytherin now.”

“Not until you take your potions.” Draco had folded his arms across his chest and had a glimmer in his silver eyes which made Harry suspect he was enjoying the way the attention his presence was gaining him from his own House made him twitch. “Mother made it clear I was to make sure you took them, and to report to her if you didn’t. So she could make you take them.

Annoyed, though the glare he sent him did nothing to make the other boy leave, the little raven dove beneath the table to retrieve both potions from his bag. Uncorking and downing them while holding eye contact and forcing down a grimace. 

Apparently satisfied, Draco turned and left him with only a haughty “eat the chocolate, Potter. Father knows better than the piss off Keres by poisoning you.”

“Stupid slimy git.” Ron shoved a forkful of eggs vindictively into his mouth, narrowed eyes never leaving the retreating Slytherin’s back. “Don’t tell me you’re really going to eat anything they touched? And what was that about his mother making you take potions?”

“Well...Narcissa is technically my healer.”

“ _ What do you mean she’s your healer?” _

“Be quiet, Ron! You’re going to draw the attention of the entire hall!” Hermione admonished.

“But-!”

“I wasn’t exactly given a choice.” Harry popped off the lid of the box and peered inside. The individual chocolates nestled within a riot of colors. “Keres is more paranoid than a Knarl and refuses to use anyone he doesn’t trust. Apparently, despite being out of the country for almost his entire life, he goes back pretty far with Lucius and even telling him how he tried to kill me last year wasn’t enough to convince him Narcissa might be a bad idea.” Harry hadn’t had the largest experience with chocolate before being taken from the Dursleys and had thought Honeyduke’s was amazing. But wherever this chocolate had come from easily had it beat. “She’s actually really nice. And, apparently, my cousin.”

Ron made a disgusted sound.

“Not to interrupt or anything.” Fred said.

“It is, after all, a touching story.” George said.

“But a certain bat-.”

“From down in the dungeons-.”

“Is staring at you.”

Because that was what he needed just then. Draco’s little visit had probably been what had attracted his attention as Snape usually tried to avoid looking at him for a long as he could. Hesitantly, Harry glanced up at the head table from under his lashes without fully turning his head, like he’d seen Tom do many times. Snape was indeed staring at him, though it wasn’t with the malice and derision he normally saw but with shock and...guilt? That couldn’t be right. But when he turned his head for a proper look the Potions Master caught him staring and swept off towards the green and silver table with a stack of schedules.

McGonagall’s arrival with their own schedules effectively ended any further conversation on the matter.

“Potions first.” Ron grumbled as they were leaving, Hermione having left them with a promise to meet back up in the dungeons as she hadn’t brought all of her books the way that they had. “Why did it have to be Potions first?”

Harry wondered that much himself, but kept quiet on the matter. “At least we’ll get it over with.” He said. “And then we have Care of Magical Creatures. It’s an interesting class, from what I’ve heard from Keres. Especially with Hagrid teaching; I think we both know, by now, how fond he is of things with massive claws and teeth.”

Ron shuddered. “Let’s  _ not _ talk about the kinds of ‘massive things’ that Hagrid likes.”

Well, it looked like Ron still wasn’t quite over what had happened the year before with Aragog. Not that Harry could fully blame him. “Then its Divination, which should be easy. Then Transfiguration and Defense.” His favorite subject. And the subject now taught by the man who’d saved them on the train: Professor Lupin. “I’m just glad we don’t have History of Magic until tomorrow and that Astronomy doesn’t resume until next month.”

There wouldn’t be any freezing late nights atop the Astronomy Tower quite yet. Harry had much preferred Tom’s lessons on the subject anyway, in no small part due to the resultant position curled beside the older wizard in the grass. He needed to divert his thought process before his face tinted red again.

Hermione joined them not long after they reached the dungeon and they waited outside while the rest of their class filtered in. The Gryffindors chattering animatedly among themselves while the Slytherins watched them coldly but, without Draco to step forwards and instigate, keeping quiet. Silence fell properly when Snape flung open the door, and ushered them in, each House taking seats on their usual sides of the room.

The lesson revolve around revisions to the Wiggenweld Potion they’d brewed in first year and passed largely without notable incident-one of the Slytherins, though Harry didn’t see who, threw something into Seamus’ potion; Neville melted his cauldron by mistake, earning a snarling reprimand by the Potions Master, and Harry was able to make something passable as Snape didn’t so much as look at him once-and Harry delivered a corked vial of his potion to the desk at the front of the room. His hopes that the man would let him go were dashed, though, when he said “see me before lunch, Potter.”

Infectious as Hagrid’s excitement should have been, it was considerably dampened by the knowledge that he’d done  _ literally nothing _ and had somehow managed to get into trouble with Snape.  _ Again. _ The half-giant enthusiastically instructed them on how to properly open their books-stroking the spine-and then directed them over to where a herd of Hippogryphs stood beside the forest’s edge. Harry having the dubious honor of playing a part in his well-meaning friend’s demonstration which led to him taking two laps around the castle astride the creature’s back. Draco wisely kept well away from the Hippogryph named Buckbeak, after it sent him a piercing amber eyed glare.

Divination ended up being an unpleasant affair in which their professor, Trelawny, swooped down atop him like a heavily bejeweled and sherry sodden version of his least favorite teacher and detailed for the whole of the class the various ways in which he would meet a painful end before fourth year. It was probably better to leave mention of her out of the letter he’d be writing to Tom that night, as the young Dark Lord would no doubt postpone whatever else he was doing in order to make her not so quietly disappear for what he viewed as threats on Harry’s life.

When the time came for their pre-lunch free period Harry bid Hermione and Ron a reluctant farewell and trudged down into the dungeons. Visions of being forced to clean out cauldrons dancing behind his eyes as he knocked on the door. 

“Come in.” That sounded concerningly civilized. Eyes narrowed and on high alert, the little raven edged into the room. The hearth had been lit with a blazing fire to stave off the inherent chill of the dungeon. The stiff, far-too-straight-backed chair in front of his desk had been transfigured into something more comfortable. Tea and biscuits were on the desk. “Pot-. Harry. Sit.”

Oh, yes. He was definitely about to be murdered. “Not to be rude, Sir,” Harry said in a tone meant to be quite rude indeed, perching on the very edge of his chair in case he needed to flee at a moment’s notice. “But who are you and what have you done with my Potions Professor?”

Snape’s mouth twitched into a half reluctant almost smirk. “Put whatever you’d like into your tea. And have a biscuit.” Harry looked at the cup like it would bite him. Was it poisoned? Spiked with veritaserum? Filled with something that would turn him into a toad? “Peppermint would be the brew you’re used to, I’m sure. After so long around your...guardian. If he is who I suspect.”

Snape had been an inner circle Death Eater. Of course he knew how Tom took his tea.

“I...believe I owe you...an apology.”

Harry stared at him. “Sir?”

Snape pulled out the top drawer of his desk and withdrew a rolled up scroll. Unfurling it with a flick of his wand and laying it out on the table beside the tin of biscuits. It only took a brief glance for Harry to recognize who it belonged to. “Narcissa wouldn’t tell me, when she came to secure my services at Spinner’s End, whom her client was or the name of their ward. So, suspecting they attended this very school, I spelled the vials so that they might reveal the answer. I never imagined that it would be you.” The fire in the hearth beside them snapped. Spitting little embers across the grate. “My father was abusive. I should have recognized the signs immediately. But all I saw when I looked at you was James.” Another long, almost painful pause. Harry stared into the depths of his untouched cup of tea. Snape’s gaze was fixed somewhere over his right shoulder. It was obvious that both of them were less than comfortable with the position they’d found themselves in. And then, when Harry had come to be almost certain nothing further would be said, “you have your mother’s eyes. Lily...I failed her. I failed her twice, in how I’ve treated you.”

Harry sat back in his chair to better stare at the man in surprise. “You knew my mother?”

“We were childhood friends. Met in the Muggle world. Bonded over the magic we both shared. I...had a hard time in school. Your father and his friends were...not kind.” Another pause. “She helped me. But Gryffindor and Slytherin...we drifted apart. And it was largely my fault.” He said. “I joined the Death Eaters. She joined the Order of the Phoenix; Dumbledore’s side in the first war. I provided information to the Dark Lord that led him to target you. I...tried to save your family but then your Godfather betrayed them. And when Dumbledore pushed me to swear a vow to protect you I agreed. Because you were all that was left of Lily.” He looked up at him, then, dark eyes full of open regret. “You’re all that’s left of Lily and I not only allowed you to suffer but made you suffer more. For that, more than anything, I’m sorry.”

Snape had known his mother. Snape and his mother had been friends. Snape had tried to save his family. These were realizations which Harry had never expected to have, and now that he’d been confronted with them the little raven had no idea what to do. “You said that you swore a vow to protect me.” He turned the cup in his hands, still not drinking but taking a margin of comfort from the scent; the reminder it provided him of Tom. “What does that mean?”

The Potions Master looked at him sideways for a moment. “It would seem you’re more Slytherin than I’d ever given you proper credit for.” He said. “I’ve held three loyalties in my life. The first to the Dark Lord. The second to Dumbledore. And the third, now, to you.” Harry was given very little time to make sense of what that meant before the older wizard spoke again. “I’m to take the biting letter as a sign he’s taking care of you?”

Harry measured his response for a moment and then said “Tom will never be a good man but I trust him not to hurt me.”

Snape’s dark eyebrows drew together. “Tom?”

“That’s his real name. Tom Marvolo Riddle.” At last convinced better of the tea’s status as a means to drug him, the little raven took a sip. “‘I am Lord Voldemort’ is an anagram. And, at this point, ‘flee from death’ is a bit of a joke.”

“”You’re not going to explain why that is, are you?” Harry smirked and shook his head. “Would it be possible for me to contact him?”

“He’s not the same man that you remember. For one thing, he’s 24. For another, he’s sane. And he doesn’t care about blood status: it's Muggles he doesn’t like.”

“And you agree with him?”

Harry’s shoulders curled inwards. “I agree with him that they can be dangerous.” He said. “Tom is busy, at the moment, looking for a set of artifacts which belong to his counterpart. He’s not prioritizing the effort of regaining followers but he did reach out to the Malfoys so he probably wouldn’t be against a bit more help. I can ask him to contact you; I’m expected to write a letter tonight.”

“Do so.” Pulling a stack of papers, likely summer homework turned in by one of his earlier periods, out of another drawer in his desk Snape popped open a familiar jar of red ink. “You’re dismissed. Now is not the time for you to be missing meals.” Setting his cup gingerly down beside the untouched tin of biscuits Harry picked up his bag and headed for the door. Before he could reach it the Potions Master spoke again. “Harry.”

“Sir?”

“Draco joins me for tea during the free period, each friday. You’re welcome to join him.”

Harry nodded. “Thank you, Sir.” The door swung shut behind him with a heavy clang. Ron and Hermione looked around at the noise. 

“Bloody hell, mate!” Ron aimed a glare at the office behind him. “What did he do to you?”

“He’s a teacher, Ronald!” Hermione sounded beyond exasperated. “It’s not like Harry was really in any danger.”

“Oh, come off it ‘Mione.” The red head grumbled, falling in beside Harry as they charted a path towards the stairs leading up from the dungeons. “It’s Snape.”

“Yes.  _ Professor _ Snape. Who, need I remind you, stopped Quirrell from killing Harry during our First Year.”

“And who's gone out of his way to make Harry’s life a misery whenever-what are you doing here, Malfoy?”

“You’re in Snake territory, Weasel.” Draco slid down from the pedestal of the statue he’d been sitting on and approached them, lip curled back over white teeth. “I don’t have to answer to you.”

“Malfoy.”

Draco rolled his silver eyes but the warning tone in Harry’s voice seemed sufficient to make him drop the subject. “Uncle Severus wasn’t too harsh on you, was he Cousin?”

“Cousin?” Ron sounded incredibly betrayed. Narrowed eyes flicking between them as Harry looked on in confusion. “You didn’t say anything about letting the ferret refer to you like family. That that was a part of your little truce.”

“Ron?” Harry had known his friend was less than happy with the notion of the two of them existing as something close to getting along but he’d expected the matter to remain at ‘displeased but accepting’ especially since he’d seemed to have let his feelings regarding the matter drop in the wake of the arrival of the Dementor on the express. Such a strong reaction took him off guard. 

“I  _ am _ family, Weasel. His grandmother was a Black. Just like my mother.” Draco smirked at Ron’s rapidly reddening face and threw an arm carelessly across Harry’s shoulders. “He and I are  _ actually  _ related.”

“All Pureblood families in Britain are ‘actually related’.” But Hermione’s correction was drowned beneath Ron’s biting response.

“He’s been nothing but a Git since First year and you’d rather have him? Even after what he did to Ginny?”

“ _ What?” _ Harry was starting to get irritated himself, unable to comprehend where the sudden snap had even come from and more than a bit nettled that his supposed best friend trusted him so little that a few words of goading from Draco Malfoy was all it took to make him act this way. “What are you even on about?”

“What am I on about?” the other boy was inflating like a furious lizard, fists clenched at his sides. “ _ What am I on about?  _ I just thought my best mate would be a bit more loyal after everything we’ve been through! But, by all means Harry, if you want the snake then keep him!” He spun on his heel and stormed away up the stairs leaving the raven to stare after him in irritated surprise.

“ _ Honestly, _ Ronald!” Hermione huffed, flinging her curly hair back over her shoulder. “Harry, he’s just...he didn’t mean any of that. Give him some time to calm down and-.”

“I don’t think I care if he meant it or not, ‘Mione.” He snapped, then turned sharp eyes on Draco. “And I don’t think you have anything to be smirking about. You did that on purpose you wanker!”

“I took advantage of an opportunity, Potter, that wasn’t planned.” Draco folded his arms over his narrow chest and frowned. “Loyalty isn’t a Snake thing but even we don’t turn on our own like that. It would have happened eventually. Was only a question of when. I think I saved you a great deal of trouble.”

Harry readjusted the weight of his bag on his shoulder and turned towards the stairs with a sound of disgust.

“Harry-!”

“I’m going to the Owlry, Hermione.” He only narrowly kept himself from slipping into Parseltongue. Pulse pounding in his ears as his fingers dug into the leather strap. “I need to write to Keres.”

“But lunch is-.”

“Not hungry!” He ducked around the crown of the railing and headed down the corridor before anyone could make an effort to catch up. He just wanted to be alone. 


	15. Just A Boy

By this point in his life, after so long holding the title of Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was used to such meetings. To such a point where they had lost most of their spark, even considering the chance that such occasions offered him to see some of his old students. And then, of course, there was the importance of participation in the noble system which managed the affairs of their world; he was a firm believer in the notion that one who didn’t bother with involvement forfeited their right to criticize the resulting decision so even if he hadn’t been required by the nature of his position to be present he still would have gone. This session though held more of a draw to him than any had in recent memory if only for the likely presence of the newest declared Lord in Britain.

He would have a chance to speak to Tom today, for the first time alone if not for the first time. Tom, who still to that day held the record as Hogwarts’ most ingenious student. Tom, who’d had so much potential before he’d torn himself apart, if the diary Harry had destroyed was what he feared. Tom, who hadn’t been as stable as he’d been the day they’d crossed paths at the Ministry since before his 5th year. Tom who, through his bond, might yet be saved and who he owed it to to try, with this version, no matter where he’d come from. 

The boy who’d become the man who would become Voldemort would never be good. But perhaps he could be made better. The Basilisk defanged and blinded; never tamed but close enough. Because their world, in the end, would benefit more from having him as a defender than slain. He was getting old and, in the end, was mortal; wouldn’t be around forever. And who better to take his place then one for whom the post could mean redemption. Yes. It would be difficult-the boy was always stubborn and paranoid, likely on account of his lineage of inbreeding and the love potion which had influenced his sire-but with persistence on his end and the influence of Harry’s unconditional love he could be salvaged. Taken under his wing, as his younger self should have done all those years ago.

‘He’s just a boy.’ The matron had told him, as he’d stood on the landing in that cold orphanage in London. Before he’d first laid eyes on the dark eyed, knobby kneed  _ love starved  _ child. ‘He’s just a boy.’ The desperate desire for approval shining in those sooty, too big eyes when he’d called after him that he could speak to snakes. The hatred which had drowned all hope of reason in the red pits of flame that they’d become. He should have known back then how badly the child had needed  _ someone. _ But so soon after Grindlewald and his own temptation he’d been skittish of the Dark. And he’d let him slip away. ‘He’s just a boy.’ Sometimes, at night, instead of the duel with his friend which had cost his sister her life, he was forced to watch himself walk away. Not just that day but every time after. Until Tom had stopped calling for help and drifted beyond reach.  _ I’m sorry, my boy. _ There were very few things in life that he truly regretted and the circumstances of Voldemort’s creation was one of them.  _ Not this time. _

Straightening his magenta robe, spangled in an eye catching pattern of emerald stars, Dumbledore stepped through the hearth in his office and emerged from the floo into the atrium in the ministry. Offering a friendly greeting to the check in wizard as he passed and then descending via the lifts to the appropriate floor. Arriving just in time to take his appropriate seat and greet Elphias with a nod before the session officially began. 

There was only one bill being put forward that day which in any way concerned him, regarding the treatment of creatures and headed by Cornelius’ recently appointed Senior Undersecretary. There were a handful of smaller bills before that one which would be up and so Dumbledore allowed his gaze to wander while still giving the impression that he was paying full attention. Searching through the sea of maroon robes before locating his former student. Seated between Lucius and the Parkinson Lord, if Tom felt his eyes on him he gave no indication. The whole of his considerable focus on the proposals whilst occasionally referencing the packet of papers in his hand so as not to miss any implication buried below the surface. Voting on those regarding Muggles in line with the dark, abstaining from one regarding stricter regulation of biting toilets and surprisingly voting alongside the light on restricting Muggleborns access to scholarship funding to Hogwarts. 

As Dolores rose to present her atrocity of a bill he watched the Slytherin Heir sneer at the paper in his hand then lean towards Lucius. The Malfoy Lord nodded a moment later, prompting Tom to sit back looking smug. Dumbledore didn’t find himself with much time to contemplate what that expression might mean as a call for objections went out and he rose to his feet. 

“I mean no disrespect to Madam Umbridge nor her position in saying this, but many among the Light have issue with the notions of opening entire populations to discrimination and harm because of facets of their being they cannot control.” He said, turning to the many faces of his supporters dotting the right side of the room. “I believe it is five to support a vote to fully strike rather than merely edit a bill and re-present it later?”

He remembered all his students. Some more fondly than others. Dolores Umbridge was not one of those fondly remembered ones; embodying the very worst qualities of Slytherin she had loyalty which shifted by the day in accordance to whom could grant her the most power. Cornelius, admittedly, had never been terribly confident or keen of mind. It wasn’t really a surprise he hadn’t noticed.

Rings glinting silver on each of her stubby fingers, the toad like witch leaned forward in her place beside the Minister. She cleared her throat and Tom, in the corner of his eye, scowled. “You’ll find, Chief Warlock, that the qualifications have recently been amended to require at least two supporters from each faction.” She simpered. “To better ensure both sides have their voices heard.”

“Then let  _ mine  _ be heard.” He turned his head in surprise as Tom rose. Maroon robes and well kept curls glinting in the torchlight. Gloved fingers playing along the contours of a wand cane. Blue eyes harsh and fixated on the witch atop the pulpit.

Failing to recognize the serpent’s gaze for what it was she turned to face him. Sallow face turning patchy. “And you would be?”

“Lord Gaunt-Peverell.” A hiss of whispers shot through the room. Tom, ever the master manipulator, chose the moment the pure bloods surrounding him turned to look to allow the Slytherin ring on his hand to catch the light. How easily he could capture attention and command respect was a sight to behold; if he could be turned onto a safer path than what he seemed determined to walk, their world would be in good hands. “Requesting the floor from the Senior Undersecretary.”

Cornelius sent him a measuring glance then nodded. “Lord Peverell has the floor.”

Tom once again fixed the woman in a torching gaze. “This bill appears, perhaps, innocuous at first glance to those of you concerned only with the affairs of wizards. Perhaps even to those few among you who realize it would make it legal to hunt our fellow magical beings like animals to extinction. Many among you would think little of their loss not realizing their importance to everything that makes us what we are so allow me to put it more into perspective for you.”

With a flourish, he drew his wand. The torch light dancing across the familiar length of white wood as it was held above the crowd, though at such a distance that most least inclined to support him wouldn’t have been able to make out specific details. “Phoenix tail feather. Unicorn hair. Dragon heartstring.” He said. “I believe that each and every one of you now sitting in this room, including you Madam Umbridge, have one of those three things as the core of your wand. Your wand: the very thing which you believe marks you above such rings as Merfolk and house elves. They were gifted magic long before we were, embody all that our world is, and to seek their destruction is to spit into the face of Mother Magic: and to that much I say how dare you!”

Stowing his wand again, though not before more than enough time had passed for those nearby to recognize it had they served, he flipped the packet’s page.

“With the pathos plea through with, allow me now to argue logic. Voldemort,” a collective squeak went up through the room, “was able to gain the support of creatures like werewolves and giants so easily because they had no loyalty to our world. No reason to turn him away. Many reasons instead to join him in trying to destroy us. He may be gone now but it’s only a matter of time before a new Dark Lord arises. And this would only give greater reason to stand with them instead of us.” He said. “Never mind the political backlash this would cause to our alliances and treaties with foreign nations like France. Who need I remind you have a large well respected population of Veela whom are active in their government.”

“Fenrir Greyback-!”

But Tom cut her off, ruthless and cold. “Fenrir greyback and others like him are a byproduct of laws like this passed by people like you. Which force then from society. Deprive them access to the wolfsbane potion which renders them harmless! 200 years ago, before the first laws of this sort were passed, there were less than 5 attacks a year. Now, there’s almost 100! All this law will do is make things worse for all of us! So, albeit with great reluctance, I find myself left with no choice but to offer my vote towards the Chief Warlock’s request to have this bill binned post haste.”

Lucius rose as soon as Tom returned to his seat. “I also offer the Chief Warlock my vote.” After a moment's consideration he tilted his cane, just slightly, towards Dolores and said “dragon heartstring” rather smugly before seating himself. 

“Unicorn hair! And I offer my vote as well!” Came a voice from the Light side of the room which he recognized as Elphias’ followed quickly by two more. Shot down and fuming, the woman gathered her papers in a huff and fled the room the moment the session ended.

Dumbledore rose from his seat and made his way through the crowd to the opposite side of the room. The darker families had always been slower to leave. Taking the time to feel for weaknesses in their own alliances and the alliances of those around them, and though Lucius had already headed off to greet the Minister, Tom had stayed behind; a number of the other lords had gathered around him, eager to investigate the newcomer. Though quite a few whom he recognized from the war as inner circle hung back. Suspicious of the young man who had their Lord’s wand, somehow, yet spoke so differently.

Seeming to sense his presence, his former student turned his head. 

“Forgive my rudeness, Chief Warlock, but what the devil  _ are _ you wearing?”

“I thought that you might be here, Keres, and, recalling your comment about my last robe, thought I’d dress like something else instead.”

“And you chose a watermelon?” 

“Quite a refreshing fruit. Especially in heat like what we’re having now.” The crowd around them had at last begun to filter away though not before someone around them muttered “certainly a fruit of some kind”. Tom’s lips twitched, but whatever expression had been intended was aborted before it could fully form. “If you haven’t anything pressing I was wondering if you could be convinced to accompany me for tea in Muggle London.”

Those sharp eyes narrowed but he didn’t challenge him on the matter. Instead glancing back at Lucius, who nodded and held up two fingers. “It seems I have time to burn before my meeting so I’ll indulge you.” His gaze flicked down to the bandage on his hand. “I see you got my letter.”

“And ingenious bit of spell work; simple and clean. Efficient. I do remember your work in my class.” He said. “Though I do wonder if such an addition to a howler was necessary.”

“I think you’re mistaking me for someone else; I attended Durmstrang not Hogwarts.” He said as they started walking, voice kept pleasant and under strict control. “As for the letter’s teeth I think they were very necessary. In fact, I’d argue that you got off lightly. The Minister will be receiving a personal visit later today.” His wand came free of the cane he carried with a click. A wave and a flourish vanished the maroon robe and transfigured the clothing beneath into a stately suit and tie which left him looking rather like the raven that had delivered the morning post. “Dementors. Near  _ children _ . I don’t care if Black escaped from Azkaban or how ‘dark’ of a wizard he is, a handful of  _ Aurors  _ would have been more than enough. They could have  _ killed _ my soulbound.” The anger in his dark gaze was genuine but not beyond control. Though Cornelius was no doubt due for a less than pleasant conversation at this stage the Minister didn’t seem to be in any immediate danger. They reached the exit back into the city above. Tom, rather cross, demanded “surely you’re not about to wear  _ that  _ into Muggle London.”

“I’ve disillusioned myself so that I appear more usually dressed.” He informed his former student. “Transfiguring these sorts of robes, I’ve found, tends to ruin them in the long run.”

“Merlin forbid.” Without another moment wasted, Tom stepped through the floo. Disappearing into the emerald flames with a crack. He found his former student waiting for him on the broken sidewalk outside, eyeing the cellphone in a passing muggle’s hand as if it might explode at any moment. 

“Ahh, the joys of advancement.”

The young man-he couldn’t have been more than a handful of years out of Hogwarts at that point-scowled. “They’re advancing too quickly.” He said. “If they're not set back, technology will overtake magic. They’ll find us. Our world won’t stand a chance.”

He drew away from the hand he placed on his shoulder but didn’t snarl at him. “Not everyone’s first instinct is to destroy, Tom.” He said. “Now, come along. There’s a cafe just down this way which serves a terrific lemon tart.”

He didn’t doubt that Tom had thoughts about said lemon tart, thoughts which were undoubtedly very rude, but whatever they were he kept them to himself. They spent the short walk in a silence which was neither strained nor amicable.

“I’m sure you know by now that swaggering canes are long out of fashion, Tom.” 

The brunet glanced at him coldly as he seated himself at an out of the way table. “You’re not the only one capable of disillusionment.” He groused. Dumbledore simply smiled placatingly.

“Might I ask how it is that you came to land yourself here?”

“You can ask all you like.” He drawled, waving the waitress impatiently away once they’d ordered. “But asking doesn’t entitle you to an answer. Do not mistake my civility as more than what it is; I’ve not forgotten our….history.”

Hard as he tried to keep his face neutral, he was certain his eyes betrayed his sadness. Tom looked on in dispassion. “Bad things happen to wizards who meddle with time.”

“It wasn’t  _ time _ I meddled with.”

“But you are separate from him? That is to say, you’re not the version of Voldemort who went after the stone?”

“Impressive though The Philosophers Stone might be, it’s a false and limited immortality which cannot mimic the real thing.”

“Nor, I wager, can a Horcrux?”

Tom's lips twitched again. “No. Only an Eternal can grant true immortality. And only with a price.”

“Servitude.”

Almost imperceptibly, the air around them chilled. “I am no one’s servant.”

Even fear of death, it seemed, couldn’t overcome his pride. “But you don’t deny being Voldemort?”

“You’ve always been able to see through me, Dumbledore. This time around, I’ve decided not to waste my time. And I have very little reason to worry anyone will believe you if you do attempt to out me; no one wants to resurrect the Dark Lord, after all.” He said. “Having said that, Voldemort may be my past and may once have been my future but he is my future no longer. And he certainly isn’t my present. He’s a mongrel. A disgrace to the dark cause. And the mess he’s left me to clean up is no less than monumental.”

“You seek to destroy him, Tom? Not to join him?”

His former student stared him down, then, with eyes that could only be described as inhuman. “He’s a threat to my power and my soulbound’s life and I will not suffer such an insult to live.”

The arrival of their tea and tart broke the young Dark Lord’s Stare. As the waitress moved away he reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and produced a sprig of peppermint which he dropped into his cup. Picking up his fork, Tom began the process of delivering a vindictive mauling to the innocent desert which would persist through the remainder of their conversation.

“Speaking of your soulbound, how is it that you came to meet.”

“By standing in the lot outside the bloody station at the time the train came in.” 

“His relatives-.

“Were happy to be rid of him. Said they never wanted to be saddled in the first place with one of ‘our kind’.” He growled. “They forced him to live in the cupboard under their stairs for the first eleven years of his life. A space not even large enough to store this table. They’re lucky the wards were there and that I didn’t want you in my hair because otherwise I’d have butchered them like they deserved.”

“He had nowhere else to go, Tom.”

“You know as well as I do that Sirius Black was innocent.”

“It had to be done. For Harry’s sake.”

“You let an innocent be sent to Azkaban. Let a defenseless child suffer.”

“And you’ve tortured children into insanity, so let us not throw stones today Mr. Riddle.”

“I’m  _ supposed _ to be the ‘evil’ one.  _ You  _ have the wizarding public convinced of your saintly status and your actions are and always have been reprehensible!”

“We’re not here to talk about me, Tom.”

“Devil that we aren’t!”

“I’ve made mistakes in my life, Tom. I’ll admit to them. But to err is an element of the human condition; one we all share.” The twist of his features made it plain Tom disagreed. “It had to be done because the only place Harry would be safe from your counterpart was where his mother’s blood dwelled. I never wanted Sirius to suffer but he’d never have let Harry stay there and it would have been the death of him.”

“For all your prejudice against me you're a blind old fool.” He sneered. “Nearly 13 years and you never bothered to check. Not once?”

“They’re family.”

“Morfin Gaunt was my uncle and the first thing he did on realizing I existed was make a concerted effort to strangle me!”

“He was being watched over, Tom.”

“By the squib across the lane? A sarding job of it she managed, didn’t she?” Harsh and crass and shockingly muggle considering who it was coming from; the vernacular of the orphanage where he’d grown up. “When Narcissa did his medical scan the parchment was longer than a N.E.W.T level theoretical!”

Dumbledore felt himself blanch. Recalling far too easily how Harry had asked not to be sent back. How he’d dismissed the matter as a child’s exaggeration. Then, there’d truly been nowhere else that he could go but now… “I hadn’t known.” Regrettably it was true. “If you truly believe you can keep him safe from Voldemort, Tom, then I will do nothing to impede his placement in your care.”

The young man froze in his seat. The tines of the fork in his hand clacked harshly against the plate beneath the mutilated pie. Dark eyes narrowed to biting slits. “What is it that you’re trying to gain from this?”

“We don’t have to fight, Tom.”

“If you expect that I’ll surrender everything I’ve worked for then you truly have gone barmy!”

“Our world can barely handle a renewed war. Beneath a three sided one, it will all but certainly collapse.” He said. “I know you will never relinquish your goals. But there are ways to accomplish them in some shade without bloodshed. We can work together. Compromise and find common ground. I’m getting old, Tom, and have no heir where you have so much potential that you wasted in the darkness.”

“Are you suggesting that you want to groom  _ me _ to take your place?” 

“Cornelius won’t hold his seat forever and though I’d never consider taking the post myself-far too old for that kind of political nonsense-anyone I put my support behind would all but certainly win on that merit alone.” Dumbledore said. “Young Keres Alexos could have a long and illustrious tenure as Minister for Magic.”

There was something in the young Dark Lord’s eyes that looked like greed, but he didn’t take the offer. Inhaling and sitting back in his chair. Gripping the table's edge with long light fingers. “I’ll be damned to admit it but your offer is tempting. But I’ll need to think. Consider my options.” Expected of the Heir of Slytherin. No doubt his former student was fixated on the notion that some form of catch lay hidden beneath his offered wing. “For the time being, let use strike an accord: you stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours.”

He was sane and, though it had only been one session, appeared to have no prejudice in his voting between muggleborns and pure bloods so agreeing to such a thing was a calculated risk. “I see no reason not to indulge such a request.”

Satisfied, Tom nodded and set aside his spoon. Setting a few pounds down atop the table. “‘Pleasant’ as this reunion was, I’ve a meeting to make.” Without further adieu his former student swept back out onto the city streets. Dumbledore was left to finish his tea, certain he’d taken the first step in a long and very arduous journey.

Tom could barely contain the urge to laugh. Dumbledore had always seen him as a menace to society; a bad apple through and through, well and truly beyond what his view of the world deemed fit to call ‘salvation’. When he’d attended the day’s meeting of the Wizengamot he hadn’t known what to expect but he’d known the aged wizard would try something. He’d never expected to be approached for tea, offered what all but amounted to emotional counselling and the seat of the Minister!  _ Seems you’ve come around to feeling guilty, taking all the credit in your old age for my descent into insanity. Pah! As if anything I’ve ever done was because of you! _ If he believed that he could ever be reformed into something more in line with his view of ‘right’ then the man was well and truly barking! To the point where the thought was nearly an insult; for a moment, he’d barely managed to restrain himself from hexing the man the color of his awful robes!  _ Nonetheless, there may be some merit to your little proposal. If only in the offered freedom to move as I please without your interference, as long as I keep you distracted.  _ He’d never been able to fool Dumbledore into thinking him something that he wasn’t. But Tom felt confident that he’d be able to pull the wool over the man’s eyes by showing him precisely what he’d be expecting: himself. A slight of hand well and truly worthy of his nature as the Serpent’s Heir.  _ The system is broken. The change I want, in the long run, is unreachable to anyone working within it. But in the short term, I think I’ll take you up on your offer. If only to better position myself to sink my fangs into your neck when the proper time comes. _

With a satisfied smirk firmly fixed into place on his face, the young Dark Lord stepped sideways into the faint shadow cast by a wall and emerged outside the public restroom containing the entrances to the Ministry. Disregarding the ‘Out of Order’ sign hanging from the door as he pushed it open and flushed himself down. Swiftly swept away by the flood of people filling the atrium. Maneuvering between them with the ease and grace of a snake through water and, after a brief stint in the lift, emerging onto Level One. The carpets here were plush and deep purple in hue. Lucius awaited him outside a gleaming mahogany door at the far end of the hall.

“My Lord.” Said quietly enough that anyone nearby wouldn’t overhear. “Dumbledore didn’t give you too much trouble, I hope.”

“No trouble at all, Lucius. In fact, I was offered something interesting.” He said. “I think I’ll take him up on it, at least in pretense, and only for a while. Though I need to give him time to think I’m considering it: appearing too eager will set off alarms. What of the Minister?”

“Cornelius will be expecting your arrival in,” a swish of his wand summoned a silver pocket watch, “thirty seconds.”

“Perfectly on time: just as I prefer to be.” He stepped up to knock. “Accompany me.”

An unfamiliar voice called to come in and Tom pushed open the door, sweeping over the threshold with a flourish and paying the woman behind the desk no mind whatsoever even after she called out to him to wait. All but barging into the Minister’s office with the Malfoy Lord on his heels.

Cornelius Fudge would never be the sort of man who was described as possessing any sort of presence. Short fat and balding beneath his awful lime green hat, the boots on his feet matched the color of the carpet rather than that of the pinstripe suit he wore. Tom could already feel a headache beginning to blossom behind his eyes. Looking up at the bang of the door against the opposite wall, he spluttered and scrambled onto his feet.

“L-Lord Gaunt-Peverell. And Lord Malfoy. I hadn’t expected both of you.”

“Lucius is a long time friend and I trust his council regarding this country's political affairs.” Tom said. “But pleasantries, nor the recently passed Wizengamot session, are not why we’re here. I want an explanation as to why the dementors, which never should have been dispatched to a place where they might be in contact with children in the first place, that you’ve seen fit to send to Hogwarts stopped the bleeding express mid route to the school and not only boarded it but  _ nearly killed my soulbound! _ ”

Fudge went whiter than fresh fallen snow and looked at him as if he were a Nundu which had somehow found its way into his office. Hat clutched between his hands, now, rather than atop his head and spinning at a speed which would likely outpace most racing brooms. “I-I did hear about what happened to Mr. Potter. Terrible thing. Terrible. And wholly unintentional I assure you. The Dementors weren’t authorized to-.”

“ _ Are you about to tell me that those ruddy monstrosities acted of their own accord? That the Ministry lacks the vaunted control they’ve always claimed to have and yet you  _ **_still_ ** _ sent them to Hogwarts?” _

“I-. Well, I-. You see, Lord Peverell, I understand that it is a considerable risk but I believed it to be worth it in order to protect the children, Mr. Potter most especially, from the insane mass murderer who’s currently on the run.”

“Oh yes. Sirius Black.” Half-distantly, he was aware of Lucius’ wary gaze on his form as he swooped through the office as if we were a dementor himself. The shadows along the walls hissing as the temperature around them subtly dropped, the barest trace of frost beginning to form along the fake window set into the wall behind the Minister. “I don’t fear for a man, insane or otherwise, mass murderer or not, making it into Hogwarts. The ancient and noble school built by my great ancestor Salazar Slytherin, among others, is the safest place in Britain. A handful of Aurors would have been the intelligent choice. But I can tell by merely looking at you that you, Cornelius, are by no means an intelligent man! Be warned that I am keeping a very close eye on the situation at that school, and if I hear  _ anything _ from Harry about the Dementors again, you don’t want to know what will be done about you! Forcing my hand is  _ very _ unwise!”

He was out the door again a moment later leaving the blonde man little choice but to all but run after him if he had any hope of catching up. All traces of his good mood were gone and the powers granted by his nature railed against his control as he forced them back down into their cage. An echo of strain shivering up from his core. “You seem curious, Lucius.” It was difficult to keep his tone in line. “What troubles you?”

“It felt like there was a dementor in that office.” Said after a moment’s hesitance. “What spell did you use?”

He was much worse than a mere Dementor. “Call it a special skill of mine. Beyond that? A Dark Lord never reveals his secrets. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve quite a lot of work to do.” Without further ceremony, Tom side stepped into a nearby shadow and left the Malfoy Lord standing in the gaudy purple hallway alone.


	16. The Rattling Cabinet

The presence of the dementors left the entirety of the Hogwarts grounds steeped in a foreboding sense of cold, and the owlry-despite the bright sunlight spilling down through a thin chink in the clouds overhead-was no exception. Wrapping his arms around himself, Harry shivered and crested the last of the tower’s stairs. Brushing his black bangs back from his forehead and tilting his head back to search the rafters for his owl.

Hedwig alighted on his shoulder with the gentle rustle of white feathers before he could successfully spot her. Hooting softly and nibbling the shell of his ear. Her intelligent amber eyes fixed him in a look of concern. “I’m alright,” he reached up to stroke his knuckles down her back, “I just came up here because I have a letter to write and didn’t want to be disturbed. Would you mind taking something to Tom for me?”

He couldn’t help but think that the look she sent him was entirely unconvinced. Nonetheless, Hedwig answered him with an ascenting hoot and made herself more comfortable on her perch. Talons gripping his shoulder as he searched the space for somewhere to sit down and write. Finally settling on a handful of fallen wall stones; brushing them off before he sat down and pulling his ink and parchment from his bag.

_ Keres, _

_ I’m writing to you over my lunch period; I know you wanted me to write later, once I’d been through all of my classes, but I needed an excuse to get away for a little while after what happened and this was as good of one as any. I hope you’re doing well, and that your first Wizengamot session went over as you hoped it would. And that you find success in your search. I look forward to Yule, if not Samhain, to be able to see you again; I guess we both got used to having each other around over the summer. _

_ So far, I’ve had my first three classes of the day: Potions, Care of Magical Creatures, and Divination. The mystery of the biting book has been solved: you stroke the spine to open it, apparently. It’s surprisingly informative when it isn’t trying to eat your face. Hagrid’s first lesson was amazing: he brought in an entire herd of Hippogryphs and let me ride one of them. It’s name, I think, was Buckbeak and it certainly felt a lot different than riding a broom. Have you ever ridden a Hippogryph? Does it feel closer to flying yourself? _

_ You were right about Divination. It’s utterly trash. Even given how easy it will be to scrape by with a suitable grade I’m regretting not taking literally anything else. The Professor reminds me of a Muggle fortune teller more than any real seer. I’m assuming there are  _ **_real_ ** _ seers: why else would the class be offered at Hogwarts? _

_ As for potions, it went better than it has in the past two years even though it’s taught by my least favorite professor. It turns out that he’s the Potions Master that Narcissa went to for my potions and when he couldn’t get information out of her regarding who she was treating he spelled the vials and knows, now, that it’s me. He actually  _ **_talked to me over tea_ ** _ and a part of me still can’t believe it but he was nice. He knew my mother. They were friends. Apparently he tried to save my parents, and after that fell through Dumbledore made him swear a vow to protect me. He says that his loyalty is to me, instead of the Headmaster or Voldemort. He wants to speak with you, if that would be possible: it’s possible he’ll help. I don’t know if you’re looking for help, though, at the moment. Even though you went to the Malfoys. _

_ Draco worked out matters as well. He approached me on the express, before the dementor came, and we’ve come to a truce. Apparently he’s smarter than I ever gave him credit for. But he’s still an arse. So is Ron, honestly. All it took was a couple of taunts from Draco and now he thinks that I’ve, apparently, betrayed him. Because I’ve decided to stop fighting with the ferret, not even because I’ve decided to be friends with him. And he even said ‘I thought there’d be more loyalty after all we’d been through’. Yeah, me too. _

_ I still have Transfiguration and Defense Against the Dark Arts so I might write to you again later. I don’t know. The entire castle feels colder with the dementors around; the sooner they’re gone the better. Looking forward to hearing from you. _

_ Harry _

Harry cleaned his quill and tucked it back into his bag, alongside the inkwell and the remainder of the small stack of unused parchment he’d taken from his trunk earlier that morning. Folding the letter once the ink had dried and tying it securely to his owl’s leg. “I don’t know if he’ll be in the manor, he did say that he would be traveling around Britain for most of the school year, but you should be able to find him. But if you can’t find him just come back and we’ll try again later, or wait until Munnin comes back by.”

Hedwig sent him an almost scandalized expression at the notion she wouldn’t be successful in one of her deliveries, nipped at his fingers a bit more harshly than she usually would and swooped off through the owlry’s window. Not really wanting to go back down to the great hall or up to Gryffindor tower, for risk of running into Ron, he crossed the hay-strewn floor-stepping delicately over a scattering of owl pellets-and propped his elbows against the broad sill. The stone cold against the jut of his elbows as he looked out over the dark canopy of the forbidden forest. Watching the leaves ripple and twist in the wind, the first signs of autumn coloring beginning to show themselves throughout the swath of green. He didn’t know how much time passed before the sound of two familiar voices drifted up from the spiraled staircase below.

“-advise you not to mistake my agreement to tolerate you as a desire for your company, Granger!”

“I’m not mistaking it for anything. I’m here out of concern for one of two my friends, both of whom are currently doing something stupid. If it really bothers you this much to have me around, Draco, then you can give me that and head back to Slytherin’s common room.”

Harry looked down, leaning up slightly on the balls of his feet, and caught sight of Draco and Hermione standing on the steps not far below the owlry window. Glaring at each other over the top of a covered plate of food, likely taken from the great hall, though whether the plate had been requested from one of the Elves or had been summoned, and which of the two of them had summoned it if it had, the little raven had no way to know. “Both of you can head back to the common rooms if you’re going to fight.”

Both startled and turned their heads up to look at him. It was Draco who spoke first, sunlight catching in his silver eyes as he reluctantly steered the conversation’s topic on to something else. “Mind telling me what it is that you lions find so fascinating about towers, Potter?”

Harry just rolled his eyes and stepped back from the window. Crossing the floor of the tower again to make himself comfortable back in the place he’d been sitting before to wait for the pair to make it to the top. A moment later, the pair crested the stairs. Locating him within a handful of moments and making their way over.

“Do I need to reiterate my threat to tell mother you’ve been missing meals?” Draco all but forced the plate into his hands. “Or maybe I should threaten to tell Keres instead.”

“You don’t need to threaten to tell anyone, Malfoy.” He grumbled. Somewhat reluctantly pulling the wrappings off the plate; given that the majority of the contents consisted of foods he normally collected for himself at lunch he suspected that Hermione had been responsible for putting it together. “I was going to at least pick up something before Transfiguration.”

“‘Before Transfiguration’ is in a little less than ten minutes, Harry! We’re going to be late if you don’t start eating quickly.” Hermione said. “Losing points on the first day is the last thing we want to be responsible for. And Draco’s right! If you’re taking  _ nutrition potions _ , let alone alongside anything else, you can’t miss meals!”

Under his breath and around a mouthful of chicken the little raven grumbled “could have just gone to the kitchens after class” and shot a glare at the blonde Slytherin. 

“Don’t glare at me like I’ve sold you out to the Dark Lord. We’re never going to speak of me admitting this again, but Granger is the top of our class for a reason Potter.” Harry huffed and shoved another forkful of food into his mouth. “More importantly, what are you going to do about Weasel?”

Hermione’s glare at Draco over the disparaging nickname went unnoticed by both of them. “Ron is being an idiot; he’s always been a little quick to anger and this isn’t the first time he’s let his emotions get the better of him. He’ll cool off in a few days and everything will go back to normal. You shouldn’t let anything he said get to you, Harry.”

Shouldn’t let his supposed best friend’s sudden insistence that he’d somehow betrayed him bother him? “Sorry, ‘Mione, but I think I need more than ‘a few days’ after being accused of something like that.”

“I say get rid of him.” Draco helpfully added, earning a glare from both Gryffindors.

Hermione sighed but relented. “Maybe you should ask Keres for advice. I’m sure he had disagreements with his friends back in his own school days; everyone does.” She said. “You were actually planning to write him weren’t you?”

Considering the fact that he was pretty sure Tom had only ever had minions and not friends asking his soulbound for guidance on how he should proceed didn’t sound like a terribly affective choice. From the barely concealed smirk on his face, Draco seemed to agree. “I already sent Hedwig off with the letter.”

“Well,” She said, “next time then.”

“Fascinating as the chance is to observe the social practices of a pride of lions we’re going to be late for transfiguration.”

Hermione jumped like she’d been scalded and banished his cleared plate with a wave of her wand. Darting down the outside staircase while taking the steps two at a time. “We can’t lose House points on the first day!”

As the two boys followed at a more sedate pace the blonde looked over at him and said “I pity your taste.”

Harry just grunted.

“Is that normal?”

“Sometimes.” He said. “Usually just around exams.”

“So I take it, I'll just have to get used to it?”

“You don’t have to get used to anything. You’re free to leave at any time.”

“Nice try, cousin mine.” Draco said as they parted ways at the front of the room. “But you’ll have to do better than that.”

McGonagall wasn’t there at first glance when they entered but Harry-who sat as far away from Ron as he could-much to Hermione's exasperation-noticed the bespectacle like markings on the feline’s face and smiled. “Hello Professor.”

The tabby cat twitched it’s tail and leapt down from the desk, transforming into a witch by the time it hit the ground. “Very good, Mr. Potter. 25 points to Gryffindor.” She said. “Might I ask how you knew?”

“Animagi often have similar traits in their human and animal forms. The markings on the cat's face looked like your glasses.”

“You’ve encountered one of us before?”

“Keres is a raven.” Though not a true animagus Harry supposed the matter still applied well enough. “He has a feather that sticks up between his eyes. Just like the cow lick in his hair.”

Tom  _ hated _ the cow lick but, much like his own hair, the unruly curl refused to be tamed no matter what was attempted and would always flop right back into its proper place. Smack dab between his eyes. 

“Another 10 points to Gryffindor. Now, the process of becoming an animagus is long and complex and it’s among the most difficult branches of transfiguration-.”

Despite the promising start the actual lesson had nothing to do with animagi and, after almost an hour of struggling to turn a mouse into a shoe brush Harry was glad to be heading to their last class of the day. 

Defense had been somewhat of a mixed bag for his past two years-first there’d been Quirrell, who’d been an ok teacher despite his speech impediment when one discounted the whole bit about him having Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head. Then there'd been that bloody peacock fraud-so Harry wasn’t certain what to expect from their new professor even if he had performed advanced magic on the train. As before the man was dressed in a shabby set of second hand robes and he led them over to a large rattling cabinet which apparently contained a creature called a boggart. They were monsters which took the form of a person's greatest fear and could only be repelled with the riddikulus charm.

They were directed to line up and take turns. Ron’s boggart, unsurprisingly, was a giant spider which he gave roller skates. Neville’s was Snape, who he forced into horrible outdated clothing which no doubt belonged to his grandmother; despite the report he’d come to have with the man he couldn’t help but smile. Hermione's greatest fear, apparently, was being screamed at by McGonagall that she’d failed all of her classes and was a disgrace to magic. An offense for which their Transfiguration Professor was promptly turned into an apple.

By the time Harry’s turn came around his expectations for his greatest fear was either his parents telling him they were highly disappointed in him being the soulbound of the Dark Lord or Lockhart hell bent on forcing him to help him sign more fan mail and sit through another pointless tirade about fame being a fickle mistress. But his fraud professor didn’t get the chance to emerge from the cabinet, if it really was him, because Professor Lupin stepped in front of him and the boggart took the firm of the full moon. Which was promptly turned into a deflating balloon and locked back in the cabinet.

“Alright, that’s enough for the day I think. Dismissed.”

There was a bit of grumbling from those who hadn’t had the chance to test the charm. Hermione and Draco moved to linger but he waved them on as the class room emptied around him. Lupin only seemed to notice his presence once the door had closed behind the last student.

“Harry?”

“I’m sorry to bother you Professor but…”

“You want to know,” He said, “Why I intervened.” Harry nodded. “Given your past, who you are, I had concerns that it would take the form of...him.”

“I’m not afraid of Voldemort.” How could he be, now that he had Tom? Now that he knew what a  _ real  _ Dark Lord looked and felt like. And certainly not now that he knew that they were soulbound and that efforts to harm him would always turn out badly for him.

The other man flinched at the name. “Many would suggest that stance unwise.”

“I’ve faced and beaten him three times, Sir, and I just turned thirteen.”

“That you have.” He said, sounding almost thoughtful. “If you’d like, Harry, you can face the boggart now.”

The little raven nodded. “I’d like that,”

Professor Lupin nodded and tapped the cabinet to unlock it again. The door swinging open. The bone deep chill which rolled from its depths gave away its form long before the dementor swooped down on him, trailing a tail of tattered burial cloth. Tom had called them abominations. Twisted mimics of whatever it was that his deal with death had turned him into. And in that split second before the piercing scream invaded his head he could understand why.

He tried to raise his wand but his fingers had gone numb and he dropped it instead. The length of holly rolling away across the floor. Spots of panic beginning to appear before his eyes.

And then it was gone. And a silver wolf was lying at his feet. And the other wizard was regarding him in a concern he chose not to voice as he handed back his wand.

“The pinnacle of a Gryffindor: your greatest fear is fear itself. Be proud of that.” He said. “Now, I think your friends are waiting for you. Run along.”

Still slightly shaken but smiling in spite of himself Harry headed out the door.


	17. The Draught of Despair

The Smith Manor was like most of the ancient homes held by the Purebloods: towering and built of stone in warm tones of sepia and brown with a roof shingled in moss, the curving walk leading to the door was lined in a riot of blooming flowers. Once, before he’d claimed his self-made title and secured a fortune and manor for his own-largely due to...tributes offered by his most respected Knights-such finery had been a source of envy for him but now the sight of it was almost enough to make him sneer. As if such displays of paltry fortune could impress him as he was now, a being able to make their hands brim with jewels and precious coins with little more effort than a passing thought. Him, the consort of a God in waiting and a demigod in his own right! Laughable!

Tom bared his teeth and, had anyone been passing by at that moment and been able to see through the wards surrounding the building, they’d have caught sight of a handsome youth with vicious fangs and the eyes of a monster. But the brief flash of his true nature was gone a moment later, the arch of lightning across a stormy sky, and he continued forward at a steady pace. If the flowers nearest where he’d stood slouched forward, petals withering beneath a heavy head of unseasonable frost, no one needed be any the wiser.

The knocker secured to the mahogany door was made of tarnished gold and shaped into the form of a badger.  _ What else should I have expected out of the supposed Heirs of Hufflepuff. Badgers never have been known for being bright. _

Honestly, how droll. But necessary, it seemed, if he wanted to get to the end of the locket’s trail. If that  _ idiot _ Caractacus really had sold off  _ his _ locket to some rich bint than his current counterpart had all but certainly been here as well. And the poison which had ultimately taken the woman likely had much less to do with an aged and highly confused house elf than had ultimately been concluded by the authorities.

Rising his fist, Peverell Lordship ring glinting ebony in the light, Tom knocked. Listening to the hollow echo of the sound dispersing throughout the rest of the great house. Waiting as footsteps drew closer and closer before, at last, the door opened to reveal a man on the other side. Middle aged and beginning to grey though still clearly discernible as blonde; the harsh plains of his face pulled down into confusion.

“Can I help you?”

Inwardly sneering, Tom dipped his head in greeting. “Lord Gaunt-Peverell.” He said. “This is, if I am not mistaken, the Smith residence?”

“It is.” The man grumbled, clearly not pleased that Tom’s-fully intentional-invocation of his higher standing title left him obliged not only to give his own but to step aside and let him in. “Valerian Smith. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I’m certainly hoping that there is, though there is something of a story involved.” He kept his voice carefully modulated, not allowing any sign to show that the lack of respect and courtesy he was being offered in any way raised his hackles. “Perhaps there’s somewhere we can sit for a drink?”

The man looked like he’d just been force fed a rotten horse apple. “The sitting room is just over this way.”

He was led through the narrow, warmly painted halls passed little tables full of odd nicknacks and portraits of past relatives which looked on curiously. More than a few of them tittering after Tom regarding how handsome he was. He eyed up the couch as Valerian dropped into a dragon-footed chair. _ How utterly distasteful. _ But he sat anyway, radiating authority and grace which seemed to put the other man even more on edge.

“Rimsy!” A reedy looking house elf popped into being beside his chair. “Tea for myself and my...guest.” The elf popped away and then returned with a tray full of tea and all the necessary accoutrements. “Well,” the blonde barked, as if he had the right to demand anything of him, “talk, then.”

Tom took his time preparing his cup. Adding in the proper amounts of cream and sugar and then adding in a bit of peppermint. Taking a drink and then, once satisfied with the flavor, sitting back in his seat. Ignoring the glare of his unwilling host and the protests of the couch beneath him. “A family member of mine, during a stint of desperation, sold off the family heirloom for many times less than its worth to a certain unscrupulous vendor of antiques in Knockturn Alley. Upon...speaking with one Mr. Borgin I learned that the locket of Salazar Slytherin had wound up in the hands of one Hepzibuh Smith. I’ve come quite a ways in the hopes of regaining custody of it; money is no object and I’m willing to pay up to five times the amount that it initially cost. Would it be possible for me to speak with her?”

The man frowned, face stoney. “Unless you’re a practitioner of highly illegal Black Arts I’m afraid not.” He said. “My mother was an obsessive collector of valuable objects and, yes, Slytherin’s locket-along with Hufflepuff’s cup-were among her collection. But they were stolen a number of decades ago and she herself was murdered, though the Aurors were bloody convinced it was an old house elf’s mistake which poisoned her.”

Though he knew no poison could kill him, Tom still made a point of appearing to eye his tea with sudden suspicion. “What makes you so convinced that she was murdered?”

“Because of the timing of the visit of an associate of  _ Borgin and Burkes _ by name of Tom Marvolo Riddle, who then went on to disappear himself, was too coincidental to be anything but suspicious.”

“I see.” So she’d had the cup as well as the locket, which rightfully belonged to him? Two very good reasons for his counterpart to kill her and take the items for himself. “Do you have reason to believe that Riddle had any knowledge of the fact she owned these items?” He set his cup down atop its saucer with a click.

Mother admitted to showing them to him. Always did have a weak spot for a pretty face and he was...complimentary.” Valerian said. “My apologies that you’ve wasted your time here.” That didn’t sound genuine at all. “I’ll see you out, Lord Peverell, if that’s all?”

“Of course.” Tom said, rising from the couch. “Thank you for your time. And apologies again for the intrusion.” As the other man turned to head out into the hall, he allowed his iron talons to slide out from beneath his human nails. They sheared through flesh and fabric with ease, so sharp they barely caused pain and would be mistaken for an accidental shoulder check on his way past. “One last question.” He paused on the porch, hiding his bloodied hand behind his back. “Would you be able to tell me where your mother was buried?”

Valerian slammed the door in his face, but the flash of knowledge behind his eyes was all Tom needed. Sneering once more at the now tightly closed door, just for good measure, he stepped into a nearby shadow and felt the world invert around him. Emerging into the wizarding graveyard located nearby.

Taking wing in the form of a raven, he scanned the graves swiftly as he passed overhead. Landing, at last, beside the proper one and smearing the tacky red substance across the granite face. Reaching deep into the cold current within him to pull the desired power free. Splaying his bloodied hand against the stone; shattering the carved name with his long fingers. “Come to me.” The darkness twisted inside him like a knot of writhing serpents. Tugged like a rushing tide. The air chilled around him until thick fog descended to blot out the light. “I demand an audience as the fourth among the Erinyes, Lord of Slaughter and Paramore to Death.  _ Come _ to me!”

There was another presence with him, then. Taking form, slowly at first and then faster, until he was looking at a woman. Middle aged and burdened with the clear signs of a life of decadence, still swathed in the shadow of a sumptuous dress. The souls of the dead would always see him for what he truly was, mortal skin or not, and a part of him wondered-rather idly-if she’d recognize him beneath the twisted features he’d been left with after eating the seeds of that damnable fruit.

“W-Where am I?” Seems not. Oh, well, probably for the better. “You’re...what have I done to warrant the attentions of the punisher of murder?”

Ah, yes. Death had taken no small amusement in the role that he’d assigned him: the vengeful spirit in his service who castigated those who, in life, had maimed and murdered. With a special torment aimed at the perpetrators of patricide. Tom’s lip curled back over long sharp fangs and he held back a growl. “I’d been warned that those called back would be...confused.”

“Your voice.” She squinted at him as he circled her, like a wolf about a wounded deer, but didn’t seem to be able to make out his face through the fog. “I’ve heard your voice before.”

“A fact of little consequence.” He drew out his sibilants into a rasping hiss. Tongues of mist, icy cold, licked along his cheeks. Faintly reflecting the sanguine glow of his eyes. “I’ve brought you back across the river for one reason and one reason only. Who took your locket and your cup from you, my dear Lady?”

“My...it was him. The boy.”

“Which boy?”

“The handsome one. From the store in the alley. Flattering. Kind. I had now way of knowing...what he truly was.”

“His name, my Lady.”

“Tom.” The dead woman shuddered. Her image flickering. “Tom Riddle.”

The confirmation he’d needed that two, at least, of the objects he’d pinned as candidates for his counterpart’s Horcruxes had been correct. Now, he just needed to parse out where he’d hid the damnable things. “Return beyond the veil. We’re finished.” He parted the mist with a wave of his hand. Forcing the icy waters back behind their dams inside him. The image of the woman vanishing like smoke before the returned light of day; bright and warm against his skin.

Where were places that he might have hidden portions of his soul? In the hands of his most trusted, as evidenced by the diary. Perhaps one or more of the others had been left in the care of inner circle Death Eaters? The ruins of Wools? Riddle Manor, or the Gaunt shack? Hogwarts?

The sea cave where he’d tormented those two Muggle brats until nothing was left but broken shells.

Tom spun on the spot and appeared with a crack and the whirl of black fabric knee deep in the swirling surf. The tide was going out but had yet to fully retreat. Scowling over his sodden socks, the young Dark Lord sloshed through the shallows and up into the confines of the entrance. Searching for the narrow, jagged passage which led to the cathedral like chamber deeper within only to discover a wall where he didn’t remember one being. 

Frowning and stepping up to it, Tom lit the tip of his wand and brought it closer. Watching the white light shimmer and slide off the damp contours for a while before lying a hand, palm flat, against it. Isolating the thrum of his counterpart’s magic after only a moment’s time.

_ A vitality sacrifice to enter, weakening any who would dare to trespass. Devious. Effective. But considering this is  _ **_me_ ** _ I’m dealing with I ought not to be surprised.  _ Undoing the ties on the weave of magic, he watched the enchanted stone crumble before him with dispassion before continuing on his way.

The passage closed in so tight, in places, that Tom had to turn fully sideways in order to fit his shoulders through. The chamber on the other side was just as magnificent as he remembered it being; the great salt water lake deep and cold and black, thick with the pale floating forms of static bodies. Inferus. At least two hundred of them.

_ Minor Necromancy. How...uninspired. _ Tom’s gaze flicked towards the distant island in the middle of the lake; something placed there emitted a faint green glow.  _ Retrieving this really will be simple. I have to say, I'm rather disappointed. _ But when he moved to shift into his raven form, the powerful crush of magic held him back. His eyes widened.  _ Well, perhaps I judged a bit too quickly. _

A mere summoning charm likely wouldn’t work, then, if the lake was guarded from shapeshifting. And though he could no doubt pass unmolested by the undead were he to swim, he’d rather avoid being drenched.

_ There must be some other way to...ah. There. _ A heavy chain, corroded green with age and exposure to the water, protruded from the shallows near his foot. A wave of his wand set it coiling beside him like a giant snake with a click and a clatter and, before long, a tiny rowboat had surfaced and glided over to him. Tom boarding and pushing off from the shore.

The little boat wobbled but he retained his balance long enough to settle himself on the bench. The chain spooling out slack behind him and the floating bodies thudding against the prow. The belly of the little boat scraped against the shallows and he stepped out, bits of gravel crackling underfoot. Cresting a short incline and looking around.

Tom had had no interest in visiting the island the last time he’d been there, doing so would have involved swimming and he’d been distracted by the two Muggle brats he’d dragged along with him, but quickly found there wasn’t much to look at and centered his attention on the only thing of note: a stone pedestal bearing up a small cauldron, which proved itself the source of the light that he’d seen. He looked down into it and was just able to make out the shape of the locket that he’d come for.

_ A potion. _ Opaque and luminous, any scent it might have had was obscured by the brine and rock smell of his surroundings.  _ Not one that I recognize. Likely my own creation, and doubtlessly wickedly cruel in its effects when drunk.  _ Letting his claws free once more with the faint click of metal, Tom dipped one talon into the unfamiliar liquid and waited.  _ Nothing happened. It doesn’t seem to possess corrosive qualities potent enough to prevent physical removal. _ He reached down into the cauldron. Felt the slide of delicate links against his fingertips. Closed his fist around the clasp...only to have the locket shift out of reach. Frowning, he tried again. Then again. Then again with both hands but each time the Horcrux slipped from his grip like a fish.  _ Buggery. I should have known that such a Muggle solution wouldn’t work. _ Tom pointed his wand at the contents of the cauldron and ran through a couple dozen vanishing spells in different languages. None of them worked.

_ Why go through the effort of developing a cruel potion if there was a way to get around drinking it, I suppose.  _ His reflection rippled against the mysterious liquid’s surface; eyes blue, but baring night hunting pupils in his mounting agitation.  _ No creation of a mortal could hurt me now, magical genius or not. I am the kin of death itself! _ His gaze flicked to the lake and the Inferus that infested it.  _ Still, it’s possible I may become incapacitated enough by its effects that I won’t be capable of finishing the potion on my own. And I doubt the enchantments placed around the Horcrux will allow me to take it otherwise. Best to put measures in place to ensure all of it is consumed. _

All it took to summon one of the undead in the water to his side was a passing inclination. The creature lurching and shuffling up the jagged rock to stand, teetering, beside him. His nose curled at the stench of decay but Tom did not recoil.

“This potion stands between me and the item for which I’ve come.” It would really be simpler to just have the Inferus drink it but he doubted that answer would meet with success either. “If whatever the effects of this elixir are overwhelm me, you’re to ensure I keep drinking.”

Such a pitiful creation of flesh and bones would be little able to contain one of his kind should his powers or his magic slip their binds and lash out, but it was the only option he had currently available. He summoned a fine goblet spun from glass with another wave of his wand and dipped it into the cauldron. Watching the track of the droplets as they made their way down the curved side. 

_ There’s enough in that cauldron for three goblets full. _ Tom lifted the goblet to his face. The curve of the glass clicking against his teeth. _ This must act fast. _ He tipped his head back and drained the contents. Throat constricting suddenly and almost making him spit it back up. The potion had no flavor but _ burned _ his mouth like molten metal and the glass nearly slipped from his hands. The desperate need for water roaring up within him; a thirst which could never be quenched even if he drank every ocean and sea on earth. The ability to stand evacuated him and he sank to his knees. Reaching up to clutch at his throat. His burning lips. Gasping for air.  _ What...is...this? _

He’d been prepared for a poison of some form. Or a liquified physical torture. But he hadn’t expected anything like this! These voices. These images. His father’s voice. The voices of the matron and the other children at the orphanage. Raining down insults as he cowered in the corner: freak, monster, unnatural thing that should have never been born! His uncle as he rounded the corner of the filthy table taking up most of the meager space in the Gaunt’s shack, bellowing about filthy half breeds and taints upon the blood. 

The cup was wrenched from his hands by clumsy fingers and pushed to his lips. More of the horrible potion forced down his throat. There was a fire in his chest. Blood was pooling in his belly. He wretched, violently, but nothing came up.

His cabinet, with all he’d ever known inside, erupting into sudden flame. Being returned to Wools by the only family who’d ever dared attempt to adopt him. The whole of Slythern banding together to keep him locked out in the cold; glares and sneers and hissed insults of ‘Mudblood’.

Another gobletful was pushed past his lips. His tongue, heavy with the taste of copper, was now a blistered slab of meat resting in his mouth. The inferno in his chest devoured the air before it reached his lungs. Futile gasps rattling the cold, wet air but offering him no relief. Water!  _ Water! _ No! In this state he’d all but certainly be unable to control the inferus or fend them off if they attacked and he no longer had the presence of mind or concentration to make use of his wand. His body was shutting down. Folding in around him as his immortal being peeled free of the mortal skin he wore. Tom scrambled blindly forward. Found the stone pedestal. The cauldron at the top. The locket inside. Wrenching it free and pitching sideways into the shadows. Shoulder thudding hard against a hyper polished tile floor a moment before he soiled it terribly by vomiting blood over his hands and the stolen Horcrux clutched in his fist. Hot and wet and sticky, but the sensation of it and the accompanying iron stench failed to register on his senses. A woman’s muffled scream followed him down into unconsciousness and the cold depths of an endless river.


	18. Out of the Bag

_The island was of nondescript size, rocky and overgrown with scrubby plants he’d never seen before. Positioned between the Styx and the Acheron, right on the seam of where the quick silver waters of the two rivers met; cold and glittering faintly with the essence of the thousands of souls which had crossed it. Far over head, so distant they were almost indiscernible, great fangs of rock loomed out of the darkness. Wherever Death’s realm was, it was underground. A cavern of some sort. But a massive one. To either side stretched sprawling country, though it was nothing at all like the grassy hills of Britain. Black mountains rimmed the horizon, veiled with poisonous mist. A field of flames where figures-Muggles? Magicals? From this distance, he couldn’t even tell if they were human-were chased by shaggy hounds through patches of briars and pools of molten metal spilled across the land like red ink.Above it all, perched atop a craggy ledge like a dire crow, stood a castle: jagged and crenulated and in no way resemblant to the only place he’d ever called his home._

_What had happened to him, anyway? The last thing he remembered was being visited by Death, made mortal once again and then force fed three seeds from the pomegranate the entity had carried. His body felt as if he’d been repeatedly flattened by a herd of thestrals, set on fire and then sat on by a hippogryph. Tom coughed and with no small amount of difficulty, pushed himself upright. His head felt heavy. Something soft brushed against his arms and his fingers seemed unnaturally long. He lifted his hand to his face and froze: iron talons, inches long and sharp as razors, curled from the tips of his fingers. Sprouting from his shoulder blades and draping limply forwards over him were a set of feathered wings: twelve feet in total span and black as a raven’s, bleeding shadows into the air._

_What the ever living hell had happened to him?_

_“Ah, look here. Our little brother is awake.” It might have been a woman’s voice, though it was so harsh and hoarse that it was difficult to tell. Slowly, he turned his head. Perched atop three boulders, arranged about where he’d found himself collapsed in a too-convenient-to-be-natural triangle, were a trio of what Tom would have politely termed hags. Their faces might have been pretty, had anyone been able to get past the sanguine eyes, the curling golden horns atop their heads and the fact that their mouths were filled with teeth like bent and rusty nails. “The Erinyes have always been three, but it seems the Master thinks you worthy of attending to our duties. Even though you started as a human, and will still be trapped in that pitiful human skin for quite a while yet.” Hisses and grumbling in either Latin or Greek, too softly under their breath for him to stand a chance at catching their words, past between the other two. Their wings rustling. The horned woman on the right had shiny strawberry blonde ringlets and sneered at him with the ferocity of an infuriated Grendillow. “We’ll see if you’re truly worthy of calling yourself Death’s first son by the time you leave this island. Get up. And tell us your name. There’s work to be done.”_

_Whips of red hot metal were coiled at their waists, glowing a brilliant shade of amber against the ebony fabric of the chitons they wore. Tom eyed them with well hidden wariness as he dragged himself onto his feet and stood. Slightly unsteady with the unfamiliar weight of wing and horn. He, too, had had his clothing replaced; the dark fabric leaving the majority of his shoulders bare and far too much of his legs on display to really be comfortable._

_The three monstrous women stared him down, expectant. He considered providing his self-made title, but thought better of it when his eyes flicked once more between their whips and their teeth. “Tom.” He said. “Tom Marvolo Riddle.”_

_“Alecto, Magaera, Tisiphone and Tom?” The horned hag snorted. “I think not. From here forwards, your immortal name shall be Keres.”_

He wasn’t certain how long he’d spent on that island before they’d finally set him free, satisfied he’d learned to use all he’d gained with his forced deal with Death. Time had no place in that dark realm, so for all he might have known he could have been trapped there for the full span of the decades which had passed between the moment he’d been dragged from his shabby flat in Knockturn Alley and when he’d found himself in modern London and nothing which a lay wizard might have termed as ‘time travel’ had actually taken place. By this point, he’d accepted that he’d likely never know unless he approached Time directly. And an Eternal would never entertain the whims of the servants of another. It was no longer important anyway. Not really. Certainly not while he found himself submerged in the icy waters of the Styx while the body Alecto had so scathingly referred to as his ‘pitiful human skin’ recovered from the blindness his hubris had left him with pertaining to the difference between immortality and invulnerability.

At least he’d managed to escape the cavern before losing consciousness, though he’d doubtlessly given Narcissa a terrible fright by vomiting blood all over the receiving room of Malfoy Manor. He’d also likely frightened Lucius as, at the moment, he didn’t doubt that he appeared either deeply comatose or dead outright; he hadn’t had his immortal self forcibly expelled from his body prior to this occasion and, as such, wasn’t certain what the results on the other side of the matter were. Hopefully he hadn’t been left in a hole in the ground, because digging himself back out of a grave would come with more questions pertaining to his nature than he wanted to answer at the moment. 

Releasing a breath and sending a cloud of spun glass bubbles rushing up and away from him, Tom felt the silty bottom press against his back and pushed against it. His head broke the water’s surface as his eyes snapped open to the image of a ceiling. So he hadn’t been buried, then? A good sign.

Tom really would have preferred to announce his return to consciousness in a more elegant and dignified manner than taking a breath and immediately choking on the clot of blood which had solidified in his throat but that was what ended up happening so there really wasn’t all that much which could be done. The Malfoy Lord appeared in the doorway so quickly that there was no denying that an elf had been set to watching over him. 

“My Lord!”

Honestly, he could have done with another few seconds of respite before having to deal with anyone. But it seemed that there was nothing for that either. Successfully dislodging the blockage and ignoring the iron tang left behind on his tongue, Tom rasped “where’s the locket, Lucius?”

“My Lord, you were-.”

“ _The locket, damn you!”_ The wizard jumped almost a foot in the air and hastened to hand him the artifact. The clasp was golden and heavy in his hand but Tom knew immediately that it wasn’t a Horcrux. Wasn’t even Slytherin’s locket at all. “This is the one I was holding when I arrived?”

“Yes, my Lord.” Lucius sounded incredibly nervous, no doubt due to his frigid tone. 

_A fake._ But there was no way it had been left there as a decoy by his counterpart. Voldemort would never clear his head enough of arrogance to realize someone someday might work out his secret. Which left only one option. _Someone else got there first. Got through all of those protections. And somehow got out, or at least got the locket out. But who? And how?_

His fingers brushed along the clasp, meeting smooth metal until something else slid across the pad of his thumb. Something which felt suspiciously like paper. Tom slipped his nail between the little mirrored doors and popped them open. The folded note dropping out into his lap. Worn and slightly tinted green with traces of the potion it had been submerged in for Merlin only knew how long, it crackled as he unfolded it but held together. The writing inside was in a neat hand Tom didn’t recognize on sight, but the lettering was-thankfully-still legible.

_To the Dark Lord,_

_I know I will be dead long before you read this, but I want you to know that it was I who discovered your secret. I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can. I face death in the hope that when you meet your match, you will be mortal once more._

_R.A.B_

Initials weren’t much to go on but it was better than nothing when it came to trying to track down a full name. And if this mysterious thief was indeed dead, all the better. It would be a lot simpler for one of his particular skill set to get into contact with one of the deceased than one of the living who’d buggered off to light knew where. “I require a list of Death Eaters who have been in the service of my counterpart, Lucius. First, middle and last names.” He said. “How long have I been unconscious?”

“A few days, my Lord. Y-You were...you had no heartbeat.”

A few days of unconsciousness certainly explained the crook in his neck which rivaled the size of the _Titanic_. “But I was not dead. Not really. You did well not to bury me.” The fact that he wouldn’t be explaining the nature of his seemingly miraculous recovery and hung unacknowledged, but nevertheless accepted, between them and Lucius didn’t ask. “I would have been most displeased to find myself buried in your yard like a pet.” He eyed the other man up and down for a moment as if daring him to speak on the matter and then said “you’ve something to tell me?”

“There’s an owl here for you.” He said. “I arrived an hour or so after your return and has refused to relinquish the letter or leave.”

“A snowy owl?” he nodded. “That’s Hedwig. Harrison’s owl. The letter she has is more than likely from him and I would be surprised if he’s worried, having not heard back from me in so long. Allow her in: I’ll write to him immediately.”

“Of course, my Lord. I’ll start preparing that list; it shouldn’t take me more than a few hours.”

“I’ll expect it by the end of the night, then.” Tom said. “Don’t disappoint me.” The sooner that he could get to the bottom of the cave caper the better. Regardless of whether the locket had been destroyed-hopefully, it hadn’t as he’d have liked to salvage the family heirloom-or not he _needed_ to know.

The gentle weight which came to rest on his knee disrupted his musings. Tom blinked, refocused and looked down into Hedwig’s large amber eyes. Stroking a knuckle lightly down the beautiful owl’s back, careful not to harm her-Harry would have been most displeased with him otherwise-he took the letter attached to her leg and nudged it open with his wand. Scanning down the page.

Draco figuring out his true identity without needing to be told and having enough sense and Slytherin nature to do his House proud and not only keep his mouth shut but actively seek to improve his situation came as a pleasant surprise.

The fight he’d had with his red headed friend wasn’t something he could offer advice on.

Severus Snape, from what he’d heard of the man thus far, was nothing short of a potion’s genius and as such having him firmly on his side would only behoove him. Thereby, agreeing to meet with the man and answer a few questions would be a wise course of action.

As for Harry’s explanation of the first day back to school...hippogryphs weren’t the worst thing Hagrid could possibly have chosen to show to underage children. At least he hadn’t tossed his unsuspecting soulbound onto the back of an Acromantula.

Summoning an elf to ask after a quill and a piece of parchment, Tom set in on writing his reply.

_Harrison,_

_I apologize for the delay in my response. In the effort of locating and recovering the first object on my bucket list I fell indisposed but have since recovered. Don’t worry after me. I will be fine. I’m glad that you enjoyed your first day back to classes. Useful as it is to at last know the secret of how to get at the information contained within that damnable book, I’ll admit to being less than pleased to hear that the half-giant thought it suitable to expose students to XXX ranked magical creatures before their N.E.W.T year. I’ll also admit to not being surprised. If anyone ends up harmed during any of your Care of Magical Creatures classes I expect to hear of it immediately. As far as Divination goes all I can say is I told you so._

_Draco’s knowledge of the reality of matters may turn out to be fortuitous in the future; keep him close. As far as the matter of your confrontation with Ron, I’m afraid that I can offer little advice. Though I doubt you expected anything else. Let your Potions Professor know that I will do my best to clear my schedule enough to be present at this coming Friday’s tea of such a time is acceptable to him. He and I will discuss matters further there._

_In so far as your comment regarding your notice of the Dementors even when they aren’t directly present, combined with the creatures' readiness to go after you while on the express, leads me to suspect that you may be hypersensitive to the things. It doesn’t surprise me as those monstrosities are enemies of Death and you, as his chosen, would normally draw both their attention and ire. I’d recommend approaching your Defense Against the Dark Arts professor: with, no doubt, the exception of that pixie-brained ingrade Dumbledore thought it prudent to hire last year everyone who holds the chair is required to possess the ability to produce at least a non-corporeal Patronus. I’d hoped to teach you the charm yourself when you were older, perhaps your practical O.W.L.s as it’s an impressive bit of magic, but I fear you may find yourself in need of it before the year’s at end._

_Still waiting on the Quidditch date,_

_Keres Alexos_

Satisfied with the letter’s contents, Tom waved his wand to dry the ink and summoned a couple of owl treats which he handed to Hedwig as he tied the new letter to her leg.

“Apologies for the wait, lovely. Please take this to Harrison and alleviate his worry.”

Hedwig hooted at him, nibbled his fingers and flitted out the window. With nothing left to do but wait until Lucius produced the list that he required Tom rose from the bed that he’d been placed in and made his way back towards the entry room where the wards would allow him to apparate. It was time he popped into Slytherin manor, at least for a short time, as Helios, Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos had doubtlessly begun to worry after him as well.

* * *

Harry had heard about the little village just beyond the castle gates but had never seen it aside from in brief glances while boarding and disembarking from the train. Tom had told him about the place at length, had been more than pleased to sign the permission papers for him in his curly steady hand, and alerted him to all the must see spots which had been present during his time at the school. But the little raven’s excitement was in no small measure dampened by the worry which had coiled around his shoulders like a snake when one day had stretched into two had stretched into almost a week. He’d been too consumed with all the possible scenarios of what might have happened to Tom to lead him to fall radio silent after specifically requesting a letter about his first day of school that he hadn’t thought much of his tiff with Ron, despite rooming together in the same dorm, or accompanied Draco to the prior day’s free period tea time with ‘Uncle Severus’ despite the blonde Slytherin’s repeated insistences. Now, just after breakfast on the crisp first Saturday morning of the year, Harry stood between his bushy haired friend and Draco-who, at this point, was something closer to a friend than an acquaintance-with his permission slip clutched in his hands. Waiting in line to be let past McGonagall and Filch, cradling Mrs. Norris in his arms.

“Squib and his damn cat.” Draco grumbled, half under his breath as he returned the grey feline’s amber glare. “Bloody menace if you ask me.”

“Still not over the detention he hit us with after the staged wizard’s duel in our first year?” Harry asked.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “If you ask me you had it coming, sneaking around like that.”

“Hello, cauldron.” The Slytherin grumbled. Noticing the raven’s look of surprise, he demanded “what?”

“Nothing.” Harry said. “I just thought ‘pot calling the kettle black’ was a Muggle saying.”

“Pot? I said _cauldron_ you knob!”

Hermione, having adapted to similar interactions between them by this point in the week, just shook her head in a manner which almost seemed fond. “The two of you are unbelievable.” They reached McGonagall before either one of the boys could respond and she handed the Deputy Headmistress her slip.

“Thank you, Ms. Granger.” And then the same when Draco handed over his. “Very good, Mr. Malfoy.” When Harry tried to walk past her after handing over his own papers she held out an arm to stop him. “A moment, Mr. Potter. I’m aware, from how often you’ve mentioned him in my class, that Mr. Keres is your cousin but I’m not certain he would qualify as the required permission to visit Hogsmeade Village.”

“He should, Professor.” Harry said. “He blood adopted me at Gringotts this past summer, and legally became my guardian in both the Magical and Muggle world.”

“I’m afraid that the last record on file with this school states Mr. and Mrs. Dursley are your guardians. I’ll have to ask you to accompany me to the Headmaster’s office, Mr. Potter, to ensure this is properly sorted for the future. Especially as we heightened security to account for.” Ah, yes, because they were all in mortal danger from his godfather, who enjoyed pranks and using his animagus form as an excuse to drool in Tom’s lap and drive him up a wall. “Argus, see to it that all students looking to head down to the village have their papers in order. This shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.”

Half annoyed and half helplessly, Harry glanced back at his companions. Hermione looked miffed and confused. Draco just sighed and waved him on with an assurance that they’d wait for him at the gates of the castle. With little other choice, the little raven followed his Head of House to the gargoyle who guarded the stairwell up to Dumbledore’s office.

“Pepper imps!” The winged statue leapt aside and permitted them entry. Dumbledore’s voice invited them inside a moment after Professor McGonagall knocked.

“Ah, Minerva. And Harry, too. Shouldn’t you be heading down to Hogsmead about how? I’d never have thought young Mr. Alexos would have denied you the opportunity to visit Hogsmeade when he enjoyed the chance to do so so much while he was here.”

Tom had said he’d never fooled Dumbledore. “Keres attended Durmstrang, Sir.”

“Ah, of course my boy. Of course.” The Headmaster offered him an indulgent smile, blue eyes glittering behind his half moon glasses. He nudged a dish of deep red lollis towards him. “Blood pop?”

Harry winced. “No, thanks.”

Fawkes trilled a laugh from his perch.

“Has something happened?” Dumbledore turned his attention to McGonagall.

“Nothing serious, Albus. But the name on Mr. Potter’s Hogsmeade papers doesn’t match with the records we have on file from the Ministry and I wanted to make certain Keres Alexos was indeed recognized by our school as his legal guardian, thus being capable of extending such permissions.”

“I believe the failure to provide updated records would be on the Ministry’s end rather than Gringotts’. The Goblins, after all, are oh so careful with their records. Especially while dealing with a friend of their nation.” Dumbledore said. “Keres is indeed Harry’s legal guardian and, both from what I’ve seen and heard from him during our pleasant spot of tea at that favorite Muggle cafe of mine after the conclusion of the last Wizengamot session, I’ve every confidence that he’s both willing and able to provide all that Harry might require to grow up well.”

Maybe his snap judgement that Dumbledore had made Tom for who he really was had been off after all.

“Very well, Mr. Potter. You’re free to join your friends.” McGonagall said. “Enjoy your visit to Hogsmeade. But keep in mind that all school rules still apply. And that the Shrieking Shack is off limits.”

“Yes, Professor.” Harry didn’t need any further dismissal and quickly headed from the room. McGonagall watched him go until absolutely certain the little green-eyed incarnation of trouble was out of earshot before turning to the Headmaster again.

“Durmstrang is well known for producing alumni with a level of knowledge of the Dark Arts which is considered dangerous by the British Ministry. It’s also well known that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named traveled extensively prior to the First War and gained a great deal of support in that area of the world. Is there a way to be certain that this Keres isn’t a supporter? Or, worse yet, a marked Death Eater?”

“I do believe that he’s considerably closer to Voldemort than that, Minerva.”

The sight of his still present smile prompted her to look at him as if he’d fully taken leave of his senses. “Merlin, Albus! He’s the boy’s soulbound and guardian in both worlds if what you’ve said today is true. Surely you’re not implying that he’s-.”

“I’m not certain how Tom wound up back here but he’s been done a great deal of good already by the tie he has to Harry and I’ve a suspicion he’s been set to righting his wrongs by a force beyond the ken of anything he could hope to fight against and win.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes twinkled again. “He isn’t like he was in school, Minerva. Calmer. More willing to see reason. I truly believe that, as he is now, I can get through to him.”

“Get through to him?” she repeated. “Albus, you’re suggesting the impossible! It’s more likely you’d be able to convince a Welsh Green to behave like a tabby!”

“I believe he can be salvaged. Set onto a better path, with Harry’s influence and a guiding hand. We aren’t dealing with Voldemort.”

“No. Perhaps not.” The mad Dark Lord would never have tolerated Dumbledore’s presence. Let alone a visit to a Muggle cafe, though taking him to such a venue in the first place was-in her opinion-the pinnacle of irresponsible. And he certainly wouldn’t have looked after the child who’d caused his fall from power, soulbound or not. “I worry that, instead, we might be dealing with something a great deal more dangerous.”

Tom Riddle’s sadistic genius paired with a clear mind was not an equation she ever wanted to see solved. All the Headmaster did was smile.

* * *

As Draco had promised, he and Hermione were waiting for him just outside the castle’s gate. The September sunlight formed gilded halos around their robed figures and turned Draco’s normally pale hair a darker shade of gold.

“Dumbledore’s confirmed that Keres’ permission was adequate?” Hermione asked once he was in earshot. Their Slytherin companion grumbled something under his breath about nosey Professors as he pushed off the gate that he’d been leaning against, prompting the bushy haired witch to shoot him a pointed look. 

“I don’t think I’d have been able to get around Filch otherwise, ‘Mione.” He said. “Thanks for waiting, by the way.”

“If we hadn’t waited we’d have had to deal with the inevitable chaos you fell face first into while our backs were turned.” Draco ducked Harry’s effort to take a swipe at him, grinning. His longer legs easily keeping him just out of the Gryffindor’s reach as he chased him down the path towards the village. Hermione trotting after and shaking her head. “Not so fast when you’re not in the air are you, Potter? Give it up! You’re not going to catch me!”

They made it halfway to Hogsmeade before a blue or black came bounding out of the trees along the road and took Draco’s legs from beneath him. The responsible party circling the downed Slytherin-ruffled but unhurt-with a playful but still booming “woof!”

“Mangy mutt!” Draco huffed. “Trying to kill me!” His cheek was rewarded with a soggy, drawn out lick to the face. “Uck!”

Harry lost composure and bent over beneath the force of his laughter. Wiping drool away from his face, the Slytherin threw him a glare which lacked all heat and was almost bowled over again when the black beast leaned its entire weight against his legs as soon as he stood up. 

“Harry.” Hermione sounded surprised as she took in the sight of Sirius, in animagus form, battering Draco with wide swings of his tail. “Is that Snuffles?”

“Yes.” Harry said as Sirius trotted over to him and butted his head against his hand, demanding pets. The blonde looked relieved that the dog had finally left him alone. “Keres sent him to watch me and report back if something were to happen. As well as to protect me while he was on his way to help.”

“Is he a magical dog, then?”

“Not a dog at all, actually. Though, having spent most of the past 13 years in my animagus form, I can be forgiven for forgetting that every once in a while.” Harry spun around, but his godfather pulled him into a crushing hug before he could speak.

“Sirius!” His voice was muffled in the front of the other man’s chest. His glasses had been displaced from his nose. “We’re in the middle of the road! Turn _back_!”

“Oh, alright! Though we should probably find a place where we can safely talk this over since your friends look more than a little bit concerned.” Without further ceremony and leaving him to the mercy of the staring pair, Sirius shifted back into the form of a dog. 

“Harry,” Hermione half-squeaked over Draco’s dark mutterings of ‘of course the bloody two of you would have a murderous Azkaban escapee for a dog’ “is that Sirius Black?”

“No. Well, yes actually but....I can explain?”

“Is that a question, Potter?” Harry rewarded Draco’s unhelpful comment with a displeased glare.

“No. It’s not a question. I will explain. Just...not here.” He looked down, rather crossly, at Sirius, “you wouldn’t happen to know of somewhere we can talk, would you?”

“Woof!”

Hopefully that meant yes. “Right. Well. Lead on.”

“We’re going to follow a mass murderer into the woods?” Hermione sounded absolutely terrified which, given what she thought she knew about the situation, Harry supposed wasn’t an unreasonable reaction. Draco looked much too calm for the mentioned premis, though. He figured that had to do with either an expectation that Sirius knew who Tom was and that that fact would protect them, or his background of being raised to serve an insane Dark Lord. Or a combination of both.

“Considering Harry isn’t panicking over the sudden appearance of the man who supposedly betrayed his parents I don’t think we’re in much danger, Granger.”

“How can you possibly be this calm? He escaped from Azkaban, Draco! You don’t _go_ to Azkaban unless you’ve done something wrong!”

“You can’t really tell me that the Muggles have never thrown anyone innocent into jail.”

Harry had already left the path behind but was still close enough to hear Hermione say “but _we_ have magic!”

“Merlin’s saggy ball sack and Morgana’s tits, I never thought I’d hear Hermione Granger admit that magic makes us better than Muggles at anything. Tell me you heard that, Potter!”

“I heard you say Merlin’s saggy ball sack and highly doubt your parents would appreciate your language.” He glanced over his shoulder. Hermione was blushing and Draco looked smug.

“How can you be so relaxed about going off into the woods with someone who _might_ have murdered dozens of innocent people?”

“Oh, so it’s ‘might have’ all of a sudden?” Draco dodged the sharp elbow she sent at him with the practiced ease of a Seeker used to dodging bludgers. “Simple: if Potter knows who he is then you can bloody well bet that Keres does as well. And you don’t mess around with Keres. I don’t care if you’ve spent 13 years in Azkaban, _no one_ is that insane.” Draco shot Harry a momentary side eye and then said “except for him.”

“I certainly hope he’s not ‘messing around’ with Keres! He’s 13!”

“Soulbinds aren’t like that Granger. No ‘funny business’ will happen until Harry is ready. Keres isn’t even capable of feeling that way about him until he’s able to handle what would come from that.”

“Yes, Ron did mention that, but still!” It was then that she seemed to notice the building they were headed towards. “We’re not supposed to be near the Shrieking Shack!”

“We’re not supposed to be in the company of Sirius bloody Black either. School rules are a bit out the window, so if you don’t mind?”

“But-.”

“Did you want an answer or not? We could be in honeydukes or the Three Broomsticks right now.”

Sirius had already turned back and was waiting for them calmly perched on a rock waiting for them, calmly perched on a rock. He smiled at Harry as they came into sight of the rickety buildings barricaded door. “What’s that look for, Progslet? I thought you knew that Keres sent me here to watch you.”

Harry folded his arms. “I doubt he said you could let on you weren’t really a dog when anyone else was around.”

“Er, well, that’s probably true but there’s nothing for it now is there? And they’d have had to be told anyway so I’m sure he won’t be _too_ mad.” Sirius pushed his black hair back from his face. “Then again…”

“I think he’d be more concerned with the potential for drawing in the Ministry’s dementors than you revealing who you were. Harry is sensitive to them and father says he had a snit at the Minister over it.” Draco said. “I know you were never a Death Eater anyway.”

The older wizard sent a long look at Draco, then looked at Harry and said “when did you replace that Ron kid with mini Lucius?” as if he’d only just noticed.

Harry huffed. “It’s a long story that I don’t feel like getting into.”

“Could you at least explain, Harry, what he’s doing here and why you’ve been hiding him as a family pet so that we can understand?” Hermione never took suspicious eyes off of Sirius. “Death Eater or not, he gave Voldemort your family’s location. It said so in _The Daily Prophet._ ”

“I was never James and Lily’s secret keeper. It was Peter. And Dumbledore knew; he was their bonder.”

“Yet he never said a word on it, did he?” Draco scoffed. “Honestly, I’m not surprised. I still stand by father’s statement that he’s the worst thing to ever happen to this school.”

“He didn’t even get a trial.” Harry grumbled, ignoring Hermione’s look of alarm that he hadn’t immediately jumped Draco for bad mouthing the Headmaster. 

“I’m sure he had his reasons.” She said. “Dumbledore wouldn’t let anyone innocent go to prison. Certainly not a prison as horrible as Azkaban. He killed Peter, remember? Revenge or not, he caught twelve innocent Muggles in-.”

“Peter was responsible for the blasting curse that killed those Muggles.” Sirius informed her. “Then he cut off his finger and escaped in his animagus form. I saw him in _The Prophet_ on the front page. Over the summer. I’d have gone after him after seeing Harry, I just wanted to see him and maybe get him to a better place to stay than with those Muggles, but the Keres found me and I couldn’t just leave after...realizing the tie that those two had. That someone had to be around to keep things from getting out of hand.”

Harry might have protested against the implied inevitability that Tom’s presence would turn him Dark had everything not suddenly clicked together, making his vision go red. “When the bleeding hell were you planning to tell me that the man who handed over my family to Voldemort and destroyed my life had been spending the last 12 years pretending to be _Ron’s rat!_ ”

Draco looked thoroughly taken aback. Hermione covered her mouth with both hands and squeaked something which might have been ‘Scabbers?’ Sirius’ brows drew together in an expression of confusion so genuine that Harry, irritation aside, couldn’t not believe him. “I thought I did.”

“13 years of exposure to the dementors has side effects.” Draco said. “That he’s as stable as he is is a miracle.”

“Please tell me you at least told Keres.” There was a faint note of pleading in the raven’s voice now.”

“Mini-mort would have had a pyroclastic meltdown and probably have transfered you to Beauxbatons whether you wanted to go to France or not. He seems prone to rage, still, even if he is ‘sane’ by comparison to his older self. And I didn’t think you’d appreciate me giving your soulbound an aneurysm.”

A momentary beat of deathly silence in which the only sound was the distant ambience of birdsong and Sirius seemed to realize he’d said far too much. Then Hermione looked at Herry with an inscrutable look on her face.

“So Ginny was right.” She sounded far calmer than he’d imagined her being if and when the truth inevitably came out. “Keres Alexos is Tom Riddle. And you knew? And lied to us? Harry!”

Suddenly defensive, he shot a resentful look at his sheepish looking godfather and hissed “what did you expect me to say, ‘Mione? By the way, on top of being my soulbound he’s also the younger version of Voldemort. Which means there’s two of them, now. But don’t worry, he’s more sane than the one attached to the back of Quirrell’s head and not as desperately homicidal as the diary so don’t panic.”

“And you’re ok with him? With everything he’s done?”

“He hasn’t done anything to anyone except, Myrtle, whose death was an accident, and his family, who had it coming after abandoning him to live in a rundown orphanage during the blitz.” Harry said. “He hadn’t become Voldemort yet with D-.” He cut himself off quickly and amended “when one of the Eternals picked him up out of his time line, shook him around a bit, scolded him about the thing Voldemort did to make him crackers in the first place, and dropped him into our time with orders to ‘look after your soulbound and stop doing stupid shite’. Neither one of us really wanted this but we made the best of it and now we’re actually close. He takes care of me, ‘Mione. Like my own family never did. He fed me. Clothed me. Got me treatment for my injuries. He spends time with me whenever he can. And he considers his current self Enemy Number One.”

“And his ideals?” her tone was stern but not overly accusing and it made Harry’s notions of the impending worst case scenario spiral more. “All that blood purity rot? Are you alright with that?”

Draco snorted in a manner which Harry couldn’t help but consider highly undignified and answered before he could. “Granger, Keres barged into Malfoy Manor over the summer, sat my mother and father down and wagged his finger at them about how ‘magic is might in all its forms’ and how we needed to stop being bellends to Muggleborns who actually want to be a part of our world just because they don’t have a history of magical lineage. Not to mention that he’s a half-blood.”

“Well, then, if that’s the case what _are_ his ideals?” Harry stared at her openly. He couldn’t help himself and Hermione looked less than impressed with him for it. “Unlike Ronald, I possess an emotional range which extends beyond that of a dented teaspoon and am capable of considering things calmly. Even if I don’t agree with them. I’d like to know what my friend is getting himself into, at the very least, and running off like a lunatic would be counterproductive to stopping you from being pulled into a cult if this does end up as a repeat of the Death Eaters.”

Her lingering suspicion of Tom was blindingly obvious, but the fact that she wasn’t going to abandon him over what she’d learned made him too happy to care. “He believes in pursuing personal right and wrong over what society might suggest ‘right’ and ‘wrong’ to be. He believes that magic is better than non-magic because of what we’re able to do. He dislikes Muggles because of the way they treated him as a child but he doesn’t want to wipe them out entirely.” Harry said. “He does want their technology set back, though, because he believes they’re coming close to being advanced enough to find us. And he wants the Statute of Secrecy released so that we can rejoin wider society and not have to hide anymore. But he also understands that general human nature is to lash out at what you don’t understand, especially if you think it might be strong enough to hurt you.”

“Meaning?”

Harry huffed. “He wants to make a society where there’s a magical ruling class with fair laws. Because he thinks Muggles can’t be trusted to treat us well if they were given power. Either out of jealousy or fear.” He shifted in discomfort but didn’t look away from her as he admitted. “I agree with him.” How could he not, after everything his relatives had put him through? “If you really want to know the specifics, Tom wouldn’t mind answering questions if you write to him.”

“Do you think he’d respond?” she sounded half-skeptical and half as if she hoped that he’d say yes. “He still hasn’t written back to you.”

“Don’t speak so soon.” Draco’s grey eyes were fixed somewhere just above the roof of the shrieking shack. “Because I’m pretty sure that’s Hedwig.”

Harry spun around and felt relief flood through him at the sight of his owl, returning with a letter on her leg. He could only hope it was from Tom, and not just his own being returned. The beautiful snowy landed on his head with a welcoming hoot, uncaring of the fact that she’d made his hair even wilder in the process and dangled the letter in front of him. He untied it quickly and opened it, delighted to find the handwriting was, indeed, that of his guardian.

“Oh, bloody hell Tom! You can’t casually mention being so ill you couldn’t write to me for a week and then tell me not to worry like you expect me to listen!”

“Sounds like him.” Sirius grumbled. Noticing the curious gazes of the other two, he said “I don’t know much about what Mini-mort is doing but he’s looking for objects that belong to Voldemort and are apparently important. Probably ran afoul of something set up to protect them. Likely nasty business. Did he clarify, Prongslet?”

“Not in the letter: all he said was ‘sorry I was indisposed but I’m fine don’t worry’ in a few more words.” Harry’s grumbling did a poor job of covering his elation that the brunet was alive. “Aside from that it’s just I’m glad you enjoyed your first day. Of course Hagrid shows off dangerous animals to children. I told you so regarding the uselessness of Divination.” At this much Hermione looked somewhat unwillingly approving. “Keep Draco close now that he knows he could be useful. I don’t do ‘friends’ so beats me with Ron. Tell Snape I’ll try and find time for tea on Friday. And a suggestion that I talk to Professor Lupin,” at the other man’s name something unplaceable flashed across Sirius’ face, “about learning the Patronus Charm.”

“That highly advanced magic. Not that I’m surprised that he’d expect you to be able to learn it. You are his ‘other half’ and he’d expect nothing else.” Draco sounded incredibly bored by Tom’s penchant to expect greatness from himself and his extensions.

“That was the charm Professor Lupin used on the train, wasn’t it? To drive off the dementor?”

Harry nodded, folding the letter and shoving it into his robes as Hedwig shifted onto his shoulder. “I’ll approach him about it later.” He said. “We’ve spent enough time in the woods. I thought we were going to get butter beers before we had to go back up to the castle.”

“Oh, alright.” Hermione sighed, sounding almost exasperated. “Let’s head to the Three Broomsticks, then.”

Peter Pettigrew’s continued status as a fugitive of Wizarding law and any lingering concerns that there might have been surrounding the revelation of Tom’s identity could wait. For now, Harry figured he could do with focusing on a day of fun and friends without the looming pressure of classes like a normal teenager. With Sirius, once more in dog form, bounding ahead of them he followed Hermione and Draco back towards the main road.


	19. Blood of the Brother

Lucius had come through for him, not that Tom had spent a moment expecting otherwise. He’d regained consciousness on the lower floor of Malfoy Manor, in one of the smaller bedrooms reserved for guests, and immediately left for his own home. Arriving in the foyer of Slytherin manor at around noon, judging by the angle and coloring of the light flooding through the many windows, he’d had only enough time to explain his absence to a curious sun snake and extremely concerned and agitated runespoor before a very angry looking eagle owl arrived on his windowsill with a book of records clutched in its talons. A book of records which looked suspiciously like the one he could recall Abraxas conjuring in their fifth year, under the guise of needing to ‘keep membership straight for the Knights of Walpurgis’ in order to be ‘an upright and properly legitimate political organization’ or at least to use the facade of being such as cover.

Tom had forgotten the bloody thing existed and wasn’t much looking forward to the gruelling process of pouring over it in the hopes of finding names which matched to the initials R.A.B. Never mind parsing through them from that point. He’d been hoping for a list of marked Death Eaters, or even only those who could ever have claimed to hold the honor of being considered among Voldemort’s inner circle. Not the book he knew to contain the names of every follower, Death Eater and supporter that the Dark Lord had ever had.

A number which, at the peak of his Counterpart’s power, had outnumbered Dumbledore’s secret society of Light Wizards, the ‘Order of the Phoenix’, 20 to 1.

Tom didn’t know whether to reward the Malfoy Lord for the initiative he’d take in being so unquestionably thorough or to Crucio him until he begged for mercy for forcing him to spend more than four times the amount of time on the matter than he’d ever wanted to. By the time a knock came on his study door, midnight was pressing its muzzle against the window glass and he’d run his fingers through his hair so often that any semblance of neatness had long been lost.

The list of people who could possibly be disturbing him within the confines of his own home was an incredibly short one, and the only person on that list that he’d be anything approaching happy to see should have, as of that moment, been asleep in his bed in Gryffindor tower. Growling audibly as his teeth sharpened in his mouth, Tom pushed himself up out of his chair and stalked towards the securely shut door. “Lucius,” he hissed, “allow me to reward you for your overachievement in providing for my request by granting you a five second head start down my hallway.”

“Er…” said a voice which definitely didn’t belong to the Malfoy Lord, “if I’m interrupting something, Minimort, I can come back later.”

No. Not Lucius. It was the bloody dog. Marvelous. “Black!” He hissed, wrenching open the door to reveal the animagus on the other side. “I thought I made it clear that I expected you to remain near Hogwarts in case something happens to Harrison! What are you doing here?”

The fugitive’s dark eyes took in his icy glare with what likely passed for caution among Gryffindors and edged into the room. Tom’s gaze was pitiless and unwavering. “Trust me, Riddle, I’m not one to seek you out for your company. Harry made it pretty bloody clear that I had to let you know about my slip.”

“Slip?” he snapped.

“Yeah. My slip about the rat.” The expression on his face was enough of a demand for explanation to prompt Sirius to keep talking. “Pettigrew, I mean.”

“The one who really betrayed my Soulbound’s parents to my counterpart? What of him?”

“He’s the rat.”

“An animagus, like you. I saw that much in your memories. I’m aware.”

“No! He’s the rat! He’s Scabbers!”

The greying, pitiful shoe brush of a common garden rat which the red headed boy Harry still considered his best mate despite currently being involved in a tiff, was the traitor which had set into motion the chain of events which led to his raven suffering? He’d had the bastard in hand, back while they’d been in Diagon Alley, and he hadn’t even known? Agitation sparked into full fledged rage and the temperature in the room plunged through the floor. A crack spidering up through the glass of the nearest window and the fire in the hearth going out. Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos hissing their complaints from the perch in the corner as the other wizard backed away from him.

“Whoa there, Riddle-!”

“You mean to tell me,” he snarled, barely managing to avoid slipping into Parseltongue, “that I had the opportunity to break that traitor’s spine, to wring his neck until his coward head popped off, over the summer and I lost that chance because you  _ didn’t tell me he was there?! _ ”

Had the man been in his animagus form, his tail would all but surely have been tucked up underneath his legs. “I thought I did! I thought I told you the first night! I thought I told Prongslett, too!”

Snarling, baring his teeth in a ghoulish display, the young Dark Lord pointed his white wand at the other man. Dangerous red tinged sparks spewing from the tip. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t Crucio you until you lose what little grasp on sanity you still retain!”

“Because Harry doesn’t want him dead! He wants him to serve justice, and before you ask if death isn’t justice enough he doesn’t seem to think so! Now would you please get your wand out of my face?”

Hissing wordlessly through pointed teeth, Tom spun on his heel. Dark robes flaring around him. Stalking across the room as he struggled to reign in his powers. Succeeding in doing so a few moments later, though the tang of iron lingered on his tongue from where one of his fangs had cut into the tender flesh. “He doesn’t want him dead?” He wrenched open the door of the liquor cabinet and pulled out a bottle of black label. Considering the glasses for a moment before pulling out the cork and taking two deep swigs. Allowing the burn in his throat and chest to further ground him. When he spoke again, his voice was rough. “What  _ does _ he want done with him, then? To have him captured and sent to Azkaban so that you can be exonerated?”

“Well, yes actually. He was rather hoping that you’d be willing to help.”

“He won’t be coming to live with you, if that’s what you think. I don’t give a bushel of Horklumps over the fact that you’re his bloody Godfather. He is  _ my _ soulbound and I won’t be giving up custody to anyone.”

Sirius held up his hands in a placating gesture. “I can’t claim to understand it, but I doubt Harry would want me to take him away from you anyway.” He said. “But at least it’ll make it so that you don’t have to deal with constantly having me in your house.”

Tom grunted. “Pros and cons, I suppose.” He took a last drink for good measure, resecured the cork and set the bottle back into its proper place. “Does Harrison have a particular plan in mind?” The animagus shook his head. “A work in progress, then. Well, when you get back to Hogsmeade make sure to alert him that I expect to be kept abreast of the situation. I’m sure that even you can manage to remember that much Bl-.” His eyes widened. “Bloody hell. Black! That’s it! They’re a Black!”

“Who’s a Black?” Sirius watched Tom pounce onto the folded, potion stained note with a raised eyebrow. “What’s got you acting like someone stuffed a colony of chizpurfles down your pants?”

The brunet set him a baleful glare in reprimand for his crassness and shoved the note into his hand. “Read it.” He snapped. “And tell me if that signature means anything to you.”

The older man’s eyes scanned down the parchment, his expression becoming grimmer with every line, until he finally looked up. “And here I was, thinking my little brother had run off like a coward and been left in a ditch somewhere by Voldemort’s masked minions.” He shook his head and tossed the note down onto the desktop again. “Regulus Arcturus Black. He got to one of those things that you’re looking for? The things that belong to Him?”

“So it would seem. A very, very dark object indeed. A tie to his false immortality called a Horcrux. And I need to know whether or not it was destroyed and, if not, where it might have ended up so that **I** can destroy it.” With a fluid wave of his wand, Tom conjured a stone bowl atop the desk and quickly picked it up. Turning to Sirius again, something edging close to malice in his eyes. “It would seem there is something else that you can do for me. The ritual I’ll be performing tonight will require the blood of a direct relation.” Tom extended his claws, grinning savagely at the fear in his eyes as the talons caught the light. “Only a few drops. Nothing fatal. Don’t look so horrified.”

“I hadn’t realized Voldemort was a creature. With his rhetoric, I’d have thought he was a Pure Blood.” His voice didn’t shake, but Tom could smell his fear as he stepped forward. Typical Gryffindor.

“Voldemort,” Tom wrapped his fingers around the other man’s wrist and pushed back his sleeve, “isn’t.” Carefully tapping a vein, he held the bowl beneath the dripping blood. “And, by the way, Black, my father was a Muggle.”

“So he’s not a creature, but you are? And both of you are half bloods?” A grunt was all that he received in response. “Does that have to do with how there’s two of you at once?” Satisfied with the amount he’d gathered, Tom set the bowl aside and waved a hand to close the wound. “And with all the madness you can do? The shadows? The ice?”

A half-distracted hum. “Were I to tell you what I am, you wouldn’t recognize it. We haven’t been seen this side of the veil since ancient times and most these days consider us among this world’s very darkest myths.” He said. “The Muggles, in the Greece of long ago, called us ‘the Kindly Ones’ for fear of attracting the ire of my sisters. Though the very bravest among them called us ‘Furies’.”

“Fury is a good word for something with your temper on it.” Sirius chuffed, folding his arms. “You do realize that Necromancy doesn’t work?”

“Necromancy doesn’t work unless you do it right.” He replied tartly, picking up the bowl and sweeping out of the room. Calling for one of his elves as he descended the stairs. “I’m going to be performing a complex ritual out on the grounds and require a basket of honeyed bread and enough pomegranate wine to fill a six foot long by six foot deep hole. Will you be able to provide me with this on such short notice?”

“Of course, Master! Kipsy will be able to provide yous with what yous is asking for. Would Master be liking it now or once he’s out on the grounds?”

“Out on the grounds will be fine, thank you.” He said. Noticing the the presence of the other man behind him on the stairs, he turned his head just enough to send the trailing Gryffindor a curious side eye. “I’m well aware that you bolted from your dark family screaming, so forgive me for suggesting this but it seems as if you’re following me on my way to conduct a black rite.”

“Sounds to me like you’re planning to pour fruit wine into a hole, Riddle. Not much about that prospect that’s frightening or evil, aside from the waste of alcohol.”

“When a body isn’t present to use as an anchor point to drag them back with I find myself forced to resort to politer means through which I can request an audience. Libations and sweet bread were the means through which the Ancient Greeks and Romans reached out to their dead. The ritual I have planned the very one that my kind taught them. Knowledge that was lost when their empires crumbled.” The door swung shut with a heavy thud. The grass beneath their feet whispering softly as they walked. “You’d do best to view this as the privilege that it is.”

Under his breath, the former Auror muttered “snooty bugger aren’t you?” which he chose to outright ignore. “Could I speak to him? Even just for a second? Reg and I didn’t exactly get along but...he was my brother. And he did the right thing in the end.”

Tom was quiet for so long, as they walked, that Sirius had nearly resigned himself to the fact that the Dark Lord’s younger self had no intention of answering him when he finally said “if he will allow it, once I’ve gotten the information I require, then yes. You may speak with him but only for a short while. The dead don’t well handle long stints of time in this world.”

“You care that they would suffer?”

The brunet’s laughter wasn’t the high susurrus of the serpentine nightmare he’d faced in the first war, but it was no less cold or terrible. “My very purpose is to make them suffer, if they’ve acted in such a way in life that they’d be placed into my charge.” He said. “But I’ve more pressing matters to see to, at the moment. And there are better means through which I can torment the dead than forcing them to linger a handful of minutes or hours more.” He pointed his wand abruptly at the earth and, with a motion rather like driving a spade into the ground, barked “excavio!”

There was a flash of sallow light and then a hole began to dig itself into the ground at their feet. The smell of dark earth tinting the air as a pile began to form beside them. Stopping once a neat depression the approximate size and shape of a grave had been made.

“I’ll take that now, Kipsy.” With the tell tale pop of house elf magic, a wicker basket of honey glazed buns and twelve jars of wine appeared in easy reach. Lifting the first by the wide handles on its side and taking off the lid, he said “help me pour this if you’re really going to insist on being present!”

With momentary hesitance, the animagus shuffled over to the nearest jar and lifted it into his arms. Surprised by the weight of it. The faint silver moonlight turned the liquid inside a deep, bloody red. For a long while the only sound between them was the faint splash of wine being poured into the steadily filling grave. Then, once the last jar had been emptied and the depth of the pungent alcohol in the pit was satisfactory to the brunet, Riddle began chanting in a language which Sirius had never heard before and assumed, from his earlier comments, was Greek. Lifting the basket of rolls and tipping it into the open grave. The glazed bread splashing down into the rather unappetizing wine and mud slurry just in front of them.

An unseasonable chill began to wind its way through the air-not as harsh as that which accompanied Dementors or that Tom had proven himself capable of calling down in a fit of peek-and a thick bank of fog closed in around them. Rapidly blocking out the light of the moon and stars. The press of silence a physical presence as it closed in tightly around them like a muffling veil.

And then they were no longer alone.

Regulus looked little different than he had when he’d last seen him; a handful of years older and dressed in black robes, his dark eyes were wide and his hair pasted wetly against his forehead. There was something silvery and indistinct about his form and he directed a look of alarmed confusion at him before catching sight of Tom. His eyes widened and, if such a thing were even possible, the spirit became even paler.

“You called for me, Lord?”

“I’ve been tasked with hunting the one who would flee from death.” Tom said. “The locket. The one which you stole from that cave by the sea. The one that you replaced with a fake. Did you succeed in destroying it?”

“I don’t know.” The spirit admitted, hesitant. “I never escaped from that cave.”

“Yet the real locket wasn’t there. So someone else must have been with you. Who?”

Another hesitation, this one far longer. Though Regulus was spurred into speaking again when the brunet let out a snarl that would have put a nundu to shame. “Kreacher.” He dropped his gaze. “My elf. The Black family elf. I don’t know if he managed to destroy it but I’m certain that he tried.”

The curious chirr the young Dark Lord made sounded far too Avian for Sirius’ comfort. “And this ‘Kreacher’ would know of its fate? As well as where it is, currently, if it does still exist?” A nod. “Very well.” Tom turned his attention to Sirius and said “whatever you have to say to him, make it quick.”

When he glanced back at his brother it was to find those sad, sunken eyes resting on him. “You did good, Reg.” what else could he possibly say? Honestly, Sirius didn’t know. “You did good.” He wasn’t given time to formulate anything else before the mist lifted all at once. The charge of magic in the air dissipating. Washed away by the flood of night sounds which came spilling back across the manor’s expansive grounds.

Little Voldemort had filled in the false grave and had the empty basket under his arm. Watching him in silence with his dark pitiless eyes. “He knew who you were.”

The brunet cocked his head like an owl. “What makes you say that?”

“He called you Lord.”

“Because I am Lord, to the dead. The Lord of Slaughter. My sisters the Ladies of Wrath, Vengeance and Envy. It’s merely a title.” He said. “Summon the elf.”

“Kreacher?”

“Are you not a Black?”

“Well, that’s rather complicated-.”

“Can you summon him or not?”

Gritting his teeth and huffing, Sirius barked out “Kreacher!” in the most authoritative tone that he could muster. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a loud pop, the ancient house elf appeared in the grass between them.

“Oh, it’s the disgrace again. The bad Master who ran away when he was still just a boy. Broke the mistress’ heart, he did. What a terrible, terrible boy he was!”

“My mother didn’t  _ have _ a heart, Kreacher!” Sirius snapped, watching the other wizard approach the elf from behind. Silent as a shadow. “And I won’t be bothering you long. The feeling of disgust is mutual, after all. You’ll answer his questions. You’ll give him what he asks for. And then you’re free to go back to haunting the halls of that damned house.”

Grumbling, the decrepit and incredibly hairy elf shuffled around to face Tom as he stopped beside him. “I’ve spoken with your master and wish to continue his work. To destroy the Dark Lord that he betrayed.” He said. “I went to the cave, Kreacher. I found the false locket. But what of the real one? Did you successfully destroy it?”

He couldn’t fathom how the elf possibly could have. There were only so many things capable of destroying a Horcrux, all of them incredibly dark. Rather expectedly, the elf moaned and wobbled back and forth for a moment. Wringing his hand a few times before he reached up and began to give his ears a series of painful tugs: a display which both wizards watched in dispassion. “No! No! Kreacher tried to follow Master Regulus’ last order! He did! He tried! He tried! But he couldn’t! No matter what he did he could not destroy it!”

“The task that you were set would have been impossible for all but the most powerful wizards, or those possessed of the venom of the King of Serpents. Or whom possess powers like mine.” He said. “Bring me the locket, Kreacher. And I’ll destroy it for you.”

It seemed that the withered elf needed no further assurance than his word, because Kreacher popped away and returned a moment later with the locket in hand. Making no attempt to stop Tom from lifting it to his face. Eyes centering in on the way the heavy gold and emerald clasp swung lazilly in the air.

_ How pretty it will look around my little horntail’s throat. _ He’d have to take care with removing the taint on the object so that the vessel would remain undamaged. The first step in practice for the eventuality of having to remove the one that had made its nest in Harry’s head. “There’s no mistaking it. This is the real Horcrux. One of several.” He could sense the soul shard inside. It was aware of him. Aware of his similarity and of his difference. And, it seemed, of his intent. “It’s afraid.”

It should be.

Sinking swiftly to his knees, Tom rested the clasp carefully on the ground. The delicate chain coiling about it like a golden snake. “Stand back. It will lash out the moment I open it.” He waited only long enough for the other man to begin to backpedal in a panic to shift into the serpent’s tongue and address the locket which had once belonged to his great ancestor.  **_“:Open.:”_ **

The response was immediate. The moment the mirrored doors opened a cloud of devouring shadows billowed outwards with the force and speed of a diving dragon. Wailing and shrieking and tearing at him as he seized hold of it in his fists. Snarling in rage and pain as he forced it to bend to his whims. To reign itself in. Coiling downwards and folding in on itself until, with a great mental and physical tug, he wrenched it free of its moorings. Holding it captive between his palms like a child might a captured fairy, Tom brought his clasped hands to his lips and inhaled. Pressing a hand tightly over his mouth and, after a moment’s further struggle, swallowing.

_ It’s a good thing Harrison already destroyed the diary. _ Tom lowered his gaze to the locket, carefully checking it over for signs of damage.  _ Anything larger might have succeeded in coming back up. _

“D-Did you just...eat that?”

Oh. Right. How foolish of him to forget his audience. Rather squeamish by the sound of him, not that it came as a terrible surprise. “To put it simply, Black. Well done for stating the blatantly obvious.” He draped the chain around his neck and tucked the clasp beneath his collar. “Where did you think Raczidian got the inspiration for Dementors?”

The ex-auror took a not so subtle step away from him. “I’m going to go out on a limb and assume that Patroni don’t work on you?”

Tom flashed his too-sharp canines and started back towards the manor, locket in tow.  _ Five more to go. Then, he’ll have nowhere to hide. And once my counterpart is out of the way, I can move on to more important pursuits. _


	20. Foundations

The wake of the two rather large revelations had gone rather unexpectedly well. They’d spent a not inconsiderable time in Honeydukes, which Harry was shocked to discover had an even larger selection of candy on offer than the shop in Diagon had, being lectured by Hermione about how sugar was going to rot their teeth until Draco had become fed up enough with the matter to demand an explanation on what the bloody hell a dentist was. While visiting the nearby Zonko’s joke shop, the little raven had had to caution Sirius against any attempts to use the biting teacup he was eyeing on Tom. Afterwards they’d ordered a couple of butter beers at The Three Broomsticks and come to the rather displeasing decision to wait to move forward in making plans to apprehend Peter until they received confirmation that Tom would be willing to assist them. Not that Harry expected him not to be. 

Leaving Sirius with the task of alerting the other wizard of what had transpired, the three students had returned to the castle just in time for dinner and had parted ways to their separate House tables. The next week had passed in a mostly normal fashion-consisting largely of a blur of classes in which he worked alone when he could, or else alternated between partnering with Draco and partnering with Hermione-though between Ron’s presence and the truth he now knew about the identity of scabbers made staying in Gryffindor Towers dorm incredibly trying to his patience. On top of it all, between Tom’s clearly voiced expectations for him and the fact that the library was one of the only places all three of them could meet and have some semblance of privacy, he’d spent more time in the library the past five days than he had in the two previous years combined.

Hermione must have been thrilled.

Speaking of his bushy haired he caught sight of her after a moment's search curled up before the fire with a book in her hands. A book which, on second glance, he recognized. “Isn’t that the one Keres gave you?”

“The same one, yes.” She slid a bookmark into place and flipped the book closed, then turned to better face him as he settled into the cushion beside her. “Thank him again for me tomorrow, would you? This is a book I’d never have thought to pick up on my own and-oh, what’s that look for?”

Harry raised his hands in surrender and tried to stifle a grin. “Nothing. Nothing. I just have a hard time envisioning a book you wouldn’t read.”

“Dark books. And any books on strictly pure blood culture.”

He tilted his head, some small part of him aware that he’d taken on some of Tom’s mannerisms. “Why not?” He asked. “It’s not like you wouldn’t be able to understand the concepts. ‘Mione, you’re as smart as Keres.”

“That’s nice of you to say but I really don’t think it’s true. He’s a genius after all. His scores are the highest in the school's history.” Her face had tinted pink. “And wouldn’t it upset him?”

“Upset him? I think he’d get a kick out of it, and be relieved to have someone he can talk to instead of at about more complex things. Not to mention that ‘hey look the Dark Lord was outdone by a muggle born’ would help his magical supremacy over blood supremacy agenda.” He said. “What’s the real reason?”

“Because it just feels wrong. Looking into that sort of thing.”

“Because it feels wrong to you? Or because we’ve been told it’s wrong?”

She clutched the spine of the book harder. “Because we’ve always been told it’s dangerous. And that it’s evil.”

“There’s no such thing as good or evil. Just power. Just magic. It’s how you use it.”

“Is that a saying from Keres?” 

Harry grinned again. “His exact wording was something about ‘only power and how far one is willing to go for what they believe in’ but yes.” He said. “I like it better than the other version. ‘And those too weak to seek it.’”

“That one was-?”

“Yeah. His.” He leaned back into the cushions. “But books on culture aren’t dark, so what’s the reasoning behind avoiding them? Boring?”

“I’m sure some of our texts are worse, Harry. And even if not, it’s important information. This is the world I want to be a part of and make better. But…”

“You’re worried they’ll all contain that drivel about blood.” Harry huffed and folded his arms. “You’re probably right. You could ask someone to teach you.”

“Hogwarts doesn’t offer any such course. Not even in third year.” She said. “The closest thing is Muggle studies, and I’ll bet you 20 galleons it’s either outdated, inaccurate or both!”

“Draco-.”

“He may not be intolerable anymore but I’m not going to give Draco Malfoy leave to preach at me about how Muggles are the root of all evil.”

Harry narrowly contained a snort. “I don’t know much about the subject either. I’m sure Keres would be willing to teach both of us; he enjoys himself whenever he gets the chance to teach. He wanted to teach here, originally.”

“I’d never have pegged...Him as someone who would enjoy anything that helped others.”

“Well, He probably isn’t.” Self conscious, Harry scratched at the back of his head. “Don’t get me wrong, he’s not and never will be ‘good’, he’s the pinnacle Slytherin who wholly believes in doing whatever he has to in order to win and pretty much wears that as a badge of honor but He did something which made him go from Machiavellian to just...insane.”

“So he’s lawful evil?” When Harry stared at her blankly, she huffed and said “he has some twisted form of morals or code, he’s organized in his actions and genuinely believes he’s doing the right thing, or at least that he’s making things better for those he’s aligned with?”

That sounded about right. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“It’s usually successful so I guess that depends on what side you’re on.” She said. “It’s good for you. Since I assume you’re on his side?”

“Does it bother you?”

“Would it bother me if you joined up with Him? Yes. But Keres...I’m willing to believe you when you say that they’re not the same. I don’t know enough yet to know what I think about where and with whom you’re choosing to stand.”

That was fair enough he supposed. “Well, want to tell me what’s so interesting about that book?”

The effort to shift the subject onto more comfortable ground was effective and she sat forward. Flipping quickly through the pages. “I hadn’t even realized there were wizarding holidays but this goes beyond just discussing the tradition and history behind them. It mentions that their original purpose was to honor the four beings that ancient magicals revered as gods. Time, Fate, Magic and-.”

“Death.” Glowing green eyes. A cloak of raven feathers. A throne of bones. 

“Keres told you about them?” Hermione leaned forward so quickly she almost pitched herself onto the floor. “Oh, you  _ must  _ tell me everything!”

“It’s not much. Honest.” He said. “Probably the same thing that you’ve read. There’s four of them. They’re the closest thing we have to God’s. And that most people think they’re myths or don’t even realize they’re a thing.”  _ As well as the fact that I’m one of them. Or will be. _

His bushy haired friend actually looked disappointed. “Well, do you think he’d know where I could find a book that talks of them in more detail? I’ve gone through every book in the library at this point and nothing is there.”

So that was what she’d been doing with all those books. “Even the restricted section?”

Hermione blinked. “Well, no. I couldn’t think of any reason that they would accept to grant permission. Not this early in the year.”

The little raven sighed and got to his feet. “I’ll go get my cloak and we can see what they have.” 

“But-.”

“Do you want to look or not?” He asked, half exasperated. When Hermione didn’t raise another complaint he said “I thought so” and headed back up the dormitory stairs. Pausing only long enough to glare at the four poster closest to his before retrieving the cloak from his trunk and returning to the common room. 

Catching Hermione's eye, he headed towards the portrait hole. She joined him there a moment later and Harry covered them both with the cloak. They made the trip to the library in silence, unlocking the gate and lighting the tips of their wands.

“Any idea what we’re looking for?” Harry glanced over his shoulder at her and found his companion staring at the wall of books intently.

“No.” Hermione pulled the first book that she could down off the shelf. “We’ll just have to go through all of them. This will probably take a few nights.”

Harry couldn’t exactly claim to be surprised. “Be careful. I know at least one of the books in here screams.”

“I did some reading over the summer on muffling charms. I’ll see what I can do.” Leaving the book she’d pulled down unopened on the shelf, Hermione approached the gate. It took a handful of tries, but she managed to cast a faintly shimmering barrier before turning back to him. “Well, Let’s get to it then.”

They stayed in the restricted section until the incredibly early hours of the morning, finding plenty of books with teeth or sharpened pages or that screamed or cursed at them when opened, but none contained any information on the subject they were looking for. Barely having cleared three shelves and with the prospect of returning the next night looming large the pair managed a few hours of sleep before the next day's classes started. By the time the free period rolled around the little raven felt well and truly dead on his feet and had to be all but dragged to the dungeons by Draco.

Snape treated him to a rather unimpressed expression as the blonde Slytherin all but dumped him into one of the chairs.

“Late night?” A wave of his wand sent a bottle of red potion floating across the room.

“Library.” Was All Harry could get out, pawing at the cork a few times before finally succeeding in knocking it free. The red liquid burned as it went down and chased off the urge to topple face first into bed with the side effect of spewing steam from his ears. 

“I’m going to assume Granger was behind this?” Draco had taken the seat beside him. “Bit earlier in the year than usual for her to go exam crazy.”

“Wasn’t school related.” He said.

“Dare I ask?” 

Looking across the table at the potion master, Harry grinned and said “it has to do with Tom.” He said. “Is he here yet?”

As if on cue the fireplace across the room flared to life and the brunet swept from the flames. Scattering tiny, brilliantly green embers from the tails of his cloak. The Runespoor slung about his shoulders like a House scarf and Helios wound tight around his upper arm. Harry was up out of his seat and across the room an instant later. The older wizard chuckled softly as he caught him in his arms.

“Are you alright?”

“I told you that I was.” He slid a comforting hand down his back. Fingers pressing lightly into the divots of his spine. “You worry for me far too much.”

“If you were really ‘alright” it wouldn’t have taken you almost a week to respond to me! What happened!”

Tom huffed, exasperated. “ **_:If you must know, I was dead.”_ **

**_“:WHAT?:”_ **

**_“:Temporarily. I can’t permanently die; I’m immortal. We’ll discuss this later.:”_ ** Switching back to English, he released him and motioned to his scaley passengers. “They wanted to see you.”

“: **_Hello little one.:”_ **

**_“:How are you enjoying your time back a The big-rock-learning-nest.:”_ **

**_“:Over excitable as ever, I see.:”_ **

Ignoring the simultaneous hissing of the Runespoor, Helios reached his body across the gap between them and coiled himself happily around Harry’s shoulders. “: **_Hello speaker:”_ **

Harry reached up to stroke a hand along the serpent’s body as Tom turned his attention to the other occupants of the room. He inclined his head slightly towards Draco and then set his gaze on Snape. “I take it you’re Severus?”

“I am.” The dour man seemed to measure his next words for a moment before he nodded and said “Harry said that you’d be different. I think I see, now, what he meant.”

“The pretty face or the sanity?” Tom’s smile was thin but his eyes glittered with dark mirth and it was plain he wasn’t expecting an answer. Breaking the moment by waving his wand in the direction of the chair where Harry had been sitting and casually transforming it into a loveseat. “Well, shall we sit? A spot of tea would do marvels and I believe we’ve business to discuss?”

“With the children in the room?” Snape sounded surprised. 

Tom cocked his head like a curious raven as he gently nudged Harry towards the loveseat and sat down beside him. “Harry is my soulbound and equal, never mind the fact that he’s thirteen. And as for Draco, well, he’s Lucius’ heir and has a good enough head on his shoulders to keep his mouth shut about anything that he might overhear.” Accompanied by a threatening, blue eyed glance in the young Slytherin’s direction.

Draco sat up a bit straighter. “Nothing said leaves this room, my Lord.”

“Leave my friends alone, Tom.” Harry grumbled, almost entirely without heat.

The tea was delivered by one of the kitchen’s house elves not long after, and the little raven wasn’t entirely surprised to note that there was a small dish of peppermint leaves sitting beside the pot. Harry paid little mind to the conversation going on around him, leaning into Tom’s side with the warmth of the all but untouched mug of tea sinking into his fingers and the weight of the snake around his shoulders. The dose of pepperup he’d been given did little to prevent him from half-dozing as he enjoyed the opportunity for much-missed physical contact. Savoring the way the other man’s manicured nails dragged over his scalp.

“You,” from his position tucked into the other’s side, Harry felt more than heard Tom’s voice. Jarred from his half-sleep state by suddenly being addressed directly. “Are very clearly more tired than someone who went to bed at curfew should be. What did you do?”

“‘Mione wanted to know more about Eternals. Weren’t books in the library so we snuck into the restricted section.” Harry said. “She says thanks for the book, by the way. And wants to talk to you about your views.”

Tom stiffened, then relaxed again and sighed. “Let me guess. She knows who I really am and it all has to do with the mutt’s big yap?” Harry nodded. The brunet ran a frustrated hand through his hair, upsetting the curls. “ **:Does she know about my current status as well?:** ”

“ **:I didn’t tell her about Death, no.:”**

**“:Why do I sense a ‘yet’?:”**

**“:You don’t?:”**

**“:Bullocks.:”**

**“:Not bullocks!:”**

**“If it isn’t bullocks then why was that a question?:”**

Harry didn’t have an answer for that much and they both knew it. Draco and Severus were watching them hiss at each other with concern. **_“:If she descerns for herself that there is more to this than has been said you may tell her that I am not, in fact, Human. But under no circumstances are you to reveal what you are to anyone.:”_ **

**_“:What?:”_ ** The little raven blinked, confused. “ **_:Why?:”_ **

Tom sighed and pressed his fingers to the strong bridge of his roman nose. Looking, for a moment, as if he were praying for patience.  **_“:What is Human nature if not to be afraid of what you do not understand? And what is less understood, more fear inducing, than Death? Do you really think it will go over well if it were to get out that you’re the next in line to BE Death. You’d be crucified. And I’m being quite literal.:”_ **

**_“:Hermione-.:”_ **

**_“:Wouldn’t tell?:”_ ** He asked. “It doesn’t have to be on purpose Harry. You’re young. You trust too much.  **_:And if it gets you killed before your inheritance is finished, it’s over.:”_ ** Tom reached out and stroked his hair, as if to soothe him, and rose. Ignoring his pout. “Thank you, Severus, for the tea and the enlightening conversation. I think our alliance will be a profitable one for both of us. Precious,” the young Dark Lord turned to Harry again, “follow me. There’s a Hogwarts secret I think you’ll benefit from and I’d like to show it to you before I leave.”

“Are we ever going to discuss the thing you said we’d ‘discuss later’?” the younger Wizard asked, semi-reluctantly trailing him out of the room.

“Once we’re there, yes. I’ll send Kipsy for Ms. Granger and while we wait I’ll explain to you whatever you desire.” Tom gently took him by the waist and pulled Harry away from the stars. “Now, I know it’s been a while but I knew of every passage in the snake pit while I was a student here, and a number of the ones in the rest of the school aside. We’ll make it from here in the dungeons to the three troll tapestry on the seventh floor without having to use any of the main through ways. Come along.”

Harry grumbled something under his breath.

Stopping in front of a portrait of a sleeping dragon, Tom barked “Chelydrus!” He looked down at the raven as it swung open, revealing a narrow corridor and a set of stone servant’s stairs. “I’m not like Dumbledore, Harrison. I will not string you along for years without telling you the what or the why. I will always explain to you my reasoning. It just might not happen with exact immediacy.”

“That’s not what this is about, Tom.” Their footsteps echoed off the stone around them. His companion didn’t reply, but he could feel the question in his gaze. “You don’t trust my friends.”

Tom stopped walking and, for a moment, was silent. His hand coming to rest on his shoulder and force Harry to turn and face him. “I’m immortal, Harry. For the time being, you are not. If you go...I’d see you again, because you’ve killed. But it would not be in the way that I would want.”

The little raven looked at him in surprise. “You’re really that afraid?”

“Of losing you?” there was a cutting honesty in his blue eyes as Tom regarded him through the gloom. Thumb pressing lightly, briefly, against his scar. “I’m terrified.” Seemingly unnerved by the display of feeling, the older wizard promptly resumed walking up the stairs. “We’re not far now, Little One. Come along.”

The hidden passage the brunet had shown him to took them up all seven floors of the school and terminated in another portrait, though what it was meant to be of Harry honestly wasn’t sure. The seventh floor corridor around them was empty and Tom wasted no time in leading him over to where a tapestry of dancing trolls hung on the wall.

“Alright. What I’m about to show you is one of Hogwarts’ best kept open secrets.” He said, covering the length of the corridor and then turning about to walk down it again. “Walk by the tapestry three times while envisioning what you desire, and the Come and Go Room-perhaps better called the Room of Requirement-will appear and take a form to match.” True to his word, as he completed the third pass and came to an expectant stop, a door formed on the wall where there hadn’t been one before. Harry stared at it, wide eyed, while Tom turned the brassy knob and pushed it open. “After you.”

The room on the other side looked like a cross between Slytherin Manor and Slytherin Commonroom, complete with fine leather furniture and a skull-adorned mantle over the hearth. Hanging from the walls were banners of rippling black, embossed not with the animal of any of the Houses but a raven clutching a two pronged spear in one talon and a white flower in the other.

“A better symbol than the Dark Mark, and one that won’t be recognized. A rebranding for the Knights of Walpurgis.” Tom collapsed gracefully onto the chesterfield couch. “Death’s animal, the raven, holding death’s weapon and death’s flower: the bicorn and the asphodel.”

Harry stared at the nearest banner a moment longer before he went to join the other wizard on the couch. “I thought Death’s weapon was a scythe.”

Laughter purred in the brunet’s chest. “Muggle nonsense, darling.” He said. “Kipsy!” The elf popped into existence beside his seat and Tom turned his head to directly address her. “Please retrieve Ms. Granger from Gryffindor Tower, or wherever else she might happen to be on the castle grounds, and take her here. Please come the longer way, as Harrison and I have a short discussion to have between ourselves first.” As soon as the elf was gone, he looked at the little raven and said “you want me to explain what it was, exactly, that I meant by ‘temporarily dead’?”

“To say the least, Tom.” He said dryly. “Usually, death is a pretty permanent thing.”

“For mortals, yes. But for the immortal, the unliving specifically and not those who achieve a false form of it through various means, it’s temporary at best.”

“Unliving?”

“I can see the images of zombies dancing in your head like sugar plums for Muggle children on bloody christmas morning.” Lightly, with a half-sneering smile on his face, Tom reached out to lightly tap him on the forehead with his knuckles. “Unliving and undead are not the same. Undead are things that have died and have been forced back beyond the veil through Necromancy. Unliving are things which are outside of the cycle of life and death: immortal.”

The way that Tom was looking at him made it clear he expected some sort of confirmation he was following along, so Harry managed to muster up a quiet sort of grunt.

“We cannot be permanently killed, only banished for a period back to the realm that we serve. The potion I was forced to drink in order to recover the locket severed the ties of my being to my mortal skin, and I spent about a week underwater in the Styx while it reformed.”

“Mortal skin?” he repeated.

“My human appearance, and the anchor I have to this world. Long ago, such things weren’t needed but as the barriers between this realm and those of the Eternals have thickened, and magic has weakened, it's become impossible for lesser immortals to do so without one. Even Death had trouble, and could only stay in our world for just long enough to finish up with me.” 

“Can it be destroyed permanently? The link? And would that mean you wouldn’t be able to come back?” Internally, Harry winced at the not-at-all-hidden concern in his voice.

“The link can only be destroyed if the anchor is destroyed, which would require destruction beyond magical repair. It’s rather ironically similar to a Horcrux in that regard.” Gently, Tom drew him against his side and rested his chin on top of his head. “And, yes. It would mean that I would be unable to cross back through the barrier between this world and Death’s Realm, until they thin again. Of course, through alchemy and various old rituals, a new vessel could be created for me to inhabit. Think of it like the old Muggle superstition regarding hollow dolls and their capacity to become inhabited by demonic spirits.” He said. “You’ve another question?”

How much time did they have before Hermione arrived? Better to go for it, Harry supposed, in the hope that they did than put off asking. “What exactly is a Deathborne, Tom?”

“A general term referring to those in the service of Death.” The other replied easily, adjusting their position so that Harry was sitting in his lap, rather than beside him, and ignoring the raven’s half-hearted grumble of complaint. “Many of them were mortal, once. Recognized disciples throughout history who followed the Eternal in their many forms: Hades, Anubis, Pluto, Ankou and other ‘mythological’ Gods that the great empires of the past have worshiped. And all of them serve different purposes. There are the Psycopomps who collect the souls of the dead and guide them on. There are the Arbiters who look through their actions and determine where they go; the fields of Asphodel where the unremarkable both in good and ill spend eternity, the mourning fields for those who wasted their lives with love not returned, Elysium for the great of deed-Rhadamanthus, the bastard, is awfully bloody protective of that lot-the Isle of the Blessed, for those who earned Elysium three times after choosing to be reborn, and then the Fields of Punishment where the wicked go to suffer for the crimes that they committed during life. And then there are the torturers, who oversee that punishment. My kind. The Erinyes.”

Naturally, Tom had ended up staffing the portion of the Underworld he’d have wound up sent to. 

“What are you smirking about, imp?”

Harry shook his head and the door swung open before Tom could make an effort to push him further. Both looked up as Hermione stepped over the threshold, attention torn between eyeing the brunet warily and staring around at the room as if she couldn’t believe that it existed.

“Welcome to the Room of Requirement, Ms. Granger.” He said. “I hope Kipsy didn’t disturb you while you were sleeping; Harry did tell me that you were up rather late last night looking into the Eternals? And that you had some questions for me?”

“I...yes.” Hermione lowered herself into the chair opposite them. “Should I still call you Keres?”

“In public, yes.” His smile was thin and very white, the jagged edge of his cracked tooth catching the fire light. “But you may call me Tom while you’re in the company of others who already know. I’ve been alerted to Black’s...barking.”

Harry failed to stifle a snort. “You’re so mean to my poor Godfather.”

“He gives as good as he gets so he’s not a ‘poor’ anything, Little One.” He said. “You still have about fifteen minutes of your free period left, don’t you? And then lunch after?” Both nodded, Hermione more nervously than Harry did. Clenching her hands in her lap. “I’ll call Kipsy to bring us something while we talk, then. Most of the food would be gone by the time you made it down to the great hall. Any preferences?” When neither one of them spoke up to offer anything, Tom summoned the elf again and requested a light lunch. A tray of sandwiches and a carafe of something deep red in color appearing on the table between them. “Well, ask me whatever questions you need to to satisfy yourself that I possess no intention of being a mimic of my mad counterpart.”

Hermione watched the young Dark Lord lean forward to pour himself a glass of the liquid, only speaking once he’d settled himself against the back of the couch again. “What are your intentions, exactly? Harry says you’re not a blood supremacist, but that doesn’t mean things under your control would be any better than they are now.”

There was amusement in his eyes as he watched her over the top of the glass. The sharp, fragrant juice tinting his lips a bloody red. “I think things will be considerably better than they are now. The human condition is, admittedly, a rather poorly one; some are simply born better, more gifted, than the rest. And the natural order of things, from that, is that the weak serve their place below the strong and are, in return, protected and provided for. Muggles lack magic, and thereby are less than us but less and lesser are not the same. They will never reach the top of the ladder of society, but they will not be reduced to dregs and slaves.” He flashed his teeth again; a salesman’s grin. “Happiness doesn’t come from lying down and dying, nor does it come from reaching beyond one’s capabilities. But rather from realizing your potential and finding your rightful place. Blood status and similar such dross shouldn’t play a part in matters and focus on it is the rot which plagues and destroys the societies that it infects. We’re in dire straits, for all that most don’t realize it. We’ve allowed ourselves to become too far removed from the Ancients to be sustained, and magic has begun to die; our world to die. Yet no one notices. They see refinement and think strength. And they view such times as Camelot as the ‘golden age’.” Momentarily turning his head again to look at Harry, he ordered “eat something, Harrison. You’re in no shape to be missing meals.”

“But how can you say that Camelot wasn’t the Golden Age?” Hermione seemed to have regained a second wind of confidence now that there was a topic present for debate. Grumbling under his breath about being mothered, Harry leaned forward and picked up a sandwich without taking his eyes off of their conversation. “Merlin was the most powerful sorcerer to ever live. No one has come close to his power since.”

“Incorrect. Merlin may well have been the most powerful sorcerer in known history, but I assure you that there were many in the ancient world far greater than him.” Tom said. “Djoser, of the Third Dynasty of Egypt, could raise the desert to his will. Pericles could create wards that would defend the entirety of the city of Athens during the Peloponnesian war. The fire of Rome during the reign of Nero Claudius Caesar Augustus Germanicus was no mere accident. I could continue to go down a very long list of very old names indeed. Old names from the time where the veils were thin and the Eternals walked among normal men. A time which sparked from Egypt, Akkadia, China and the Yucatan, and of which Rome was the last ember.” Beside the tray a quill and parchment appeared. Tom lurching towards them with nearly enough suddenness to send Harry toppling to the floor had he not wrapped his arms around the older wizard’s neck. “Consider this diagram,” he drew out a set of interlocking circles; a large one in the middle with four smaller ones crossing in along the edge, “as an accurate enough depiction of the overlap between this world and the realms of the Eternals. Long ago, the veils were thinner; their interlocked existence acknowledged. And for it, magic was powerful. But time ticked on. Society ‘advanced’. The great Empires which worshiped them fell, one by one. And as Humans are prone to do, we forgot.”

He tossed the paper and quill back down onto the table in what almost looked like disgust.

“There’s a reason that Gods demand worship. Recognition, remembrance, and names all hold power. And when those things are ceased, forgotten, that power wanes. We have forsaken the proper way of things, more and more so with each passing year. Because of it, the veils have thickened into walls. If something isn’t done, they’ll ultimately become impassable and magic will die out.” He said. “That’s provided that Muggles don’t find us first.”

“You’re worried about technology.” Unsurprisingly, Hermione had been better able to follow Tom than Harry had. “And the Statute of Secrecy.”

The young Dark Lord nodded. “The Statute of Secrecy further cut us off from our traditions and practices, and is being used as a base to tighten the noose further. Especially by the more Light inclined countries like this one. Our traditions, instead of being held as things of value, are looked down on as wicked and replaced with Muggle falsehoods. We have no respect for our heritage and have turned our backs to the ones who made us something greater to begin with.” He said. “And then there is the matter of the Muggles. They are dangerous, Ms. Granger. It is human nature to fear what you do not understand. To act to destroy what holds any possibility to hurt you, if you possess the means to do so. They do. They have since I was 17, in 1945. You’re aware of what an Atom Bomb is?” Hermione’s face turned ashen pale and she nodded. “No ward in existence, with magic so weakened, could stand up against that. Our only remaining defense is that they cannot find us. And that will not remain the case forever. The only chance we have is to strike first. To burn their world, and ours, to ashes. And start anew. Before it’s too late.”

“How can you consider such measures, though? When it would kill so many people on both sides?”

“There is no consideration when there is no choice.” Tom’s response was even. “Tell me, and do be honest Ms. Granger as there’s no wickedness in truth no matter how cruel it might be. If you had the option of killing thousands, even millions, in order to protect yourself and those you care about would you take it if the alternative was death to you and yours at the hands of that same callous masses?”

The greyish pallor hadn’t left her face. What might have been the beginnings of tears were pricking at the corners of her eyes. “My parents are Muggles!”

“And measures can be taken to protect them. I’m not an unreasonable man, Ms. Granger. I will complete my mission, destroy whoever I must in order to do so, but those who would stand behind me, or even merely stand aside, need not be afraid.” There was a long pause in which Tom examined her, then something in his expression softened. Just slightly. Genuine or not, Harry couldn’t tell. “You’re 13, still a child, and this war is some time yet ahead. You needn’t think of such matters now. But I offered you the truth. That truth is that I am still an evil man. Willing to do whatever it might take to achieve my ends. As any true Slytherin should be, but very few are. Whatever your judgement of me might be, I accept that.”

“I...appreciate the honesty, Tom.” She sounded like she meant it. “You’ve given me enough to think over to last at least until I’m 17.”

The smile that he offered, this time, was far warmer. “What use is a sharp mind without occupation. The lack of larger ideas, greater concepts, near to drove me barking in my own school days.” He waved his hand, and a heavy tome bound in dark leather appeared on the arm of the chair that she sat in. “I don’t know if the restricted section has any such book, but regardless that one should save you the trouble of any further late nights chasing it. Courtesy of my own private library at Slytherin manor. Keep it as long as you need.”

Over the bushy haired witch’s hastily stammered thanks, Harry said “speaking of Slytherin manor, would Hermione be able to stop by over the summer? She wanted to know more about wizarding culture, and I don’t know that much about it myself, and I thought…”

“That I would be a better teacher than Draco?” Harry nodded. “Of course, Harrison. If Ms.Granger would feel comfortable with doing so, she’s welcome to stay for the entire summer. I should be finished with my...scavenger hunt by then and have plenty of time to inform you on whatever topics catch your interest.” Tom set his finished glass of pomegranate wine aside and gently stroked Harry’s hair, looking smugly pleased. “I’m glad that you’ve a friend who would fit so well with the Eagles, darling, because in my time Gryffindors had the collective intelligence of a concussed Mountain Troll and I’m not convinced that’s changed.”

The little raven aimed a swat at his couch companion which the older wizard easily caught, looking far too happy with himself. Despite whatever clinging concerns she might have had, Hermione failed to stifle a laugh. 


	21. The Kindly Ones

Harry would have to thank Tom again, the next time he saw him, for getting him into the habit of being able to function while waking up early because Oliver Wood’s preferred practice times truly were obscene. The sun was but a greyish concept beyond the indistinct line of the horizon as he stepped out of the front doors of the castle, and mist clung tightly to the rolling grassy grounds. Shivering in his Quidditch robes, breath rising in silvery puffs and glasses instantly fogging up, the little raven considered mounting his broom and flying down to the pitch. Just to get it over with. But ultimately decided against it, as the rushing wind would only have made him colder.

Better to hold onto what little heat he could for as long as possible, especially when the presence of the Dementors on the grounds made the natural chill of the buttcrack of dawn even worse. He’d certainly miss it as soon as their first practice of the year officially started and their captain had them airborne. Huffing to himself and wishing he’d asked Tom or Hermione to teach him how to cast a warming charm, Harry shifted his Firebolt until it was more securely tucked beneath his arm and started off towards the distant Quidditch pitch.

By the time he made it there he felt certain that he’d lost the vast majority of his fingers and toes to a severe case of frostbite and that his hair had frozen over into a gleaming ice sculpture of wild spikes. The warm air of the changing room blasted over him like a plume of dragon fire and Harry winced, face stinging badly and bitten red from the wind. He wasn’t given much time to recognize more than that before the hulking form of the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain and current Keeper overtook his vision.

“Bloody hell! It’s true. You  _ do _ have a Firebolt!” He’d nearly pinned Harry’s smaller form up against the door frame in his enthusiasm, the all too familiar maniacal glint in his eye which made its presence known whenever the older boy was discussing anything even tangentially related to Quidditch, and it was all that Harry could do to ease himself around him so that he wasn’t in the way of anyone else who might be walking through it. “I’d like to see Malfoy’s precious Nimbus 2001 keep up with you now! Hah! The Snakes are toast! Hell, all the other Houses are toast!”

“I thought we were playing Hufflepuff first this time around.” That was, at least, what he’d heard. He’d sent the information and associated date to Tom the night prior, and hoped that it hadn’t ultimately turned out to be incorrect. Not that he’d have minded too terribly if the brunet had turned up on a day that didn’t have a match planned, as it would have meant he’d have more time to spend with him. Though Tom would probably have minded, if only a little, given that such a thing would cut into his pursuit of the remaining Horcruxes. 

“Diggory was never a concern, even back when you were only riding the Nimbus. But now? The Badgers are done for!” The way he cackled sounded almost evil. “Can I see it?”

“Er...sure.” Harry handed the broom over to the older boy, who took it with slightly shaking hands. Looking at it as if it were the second coming of Merlin or some pagan God. “Keres has a problem with being instigated into replacing perfectly good things because a better version has been released. And it certainly doesn’t help that his fortune is so bloody massive it would choke a dragon.” Thank Magic he’d managed to talk Tom down from buying a fleet of Firebolts for the entire team because then he’d have to beat Wood off the older wizard with a stick. “I actually haven’t gotten to fly it yet so I have no idea how fast it is or how it handles.”

“Well, this practice should definitely be an interesting one then. That’s the fastest broom in the world, Potter.” He handed it back to him, though with a noticeable reluctance. “This Keres, I hear that he’s your cousin?” Harry nodded. “Does he play?”

“Not anymore.” He said. “But he was a chaser for Durmstrang while he was at school. Is still bloody good; we played a bit over the summer.”

Oliver smiled. “Good to know that you have someone at home to keep your skills sharp. The very last thing we need is for our star seeker to lose his edge because he can’t fly for months on end.”

He’d done alright even back while he’d been trapped at the Dursleys, but that was no matter. He’d never go back there. Would never be trapped anywhere ever again. “Never.”

The Captain clapped him lightly on the shoulder, though it was still with enough force to stagger the smaller wizard, and swept back across the room to where a chalkboard stood with a scattering of shapes and form names. Harry positioned himself on a bench, Firebolt propped on his knee, and waited while the remainder of the team filtered in at a slow pace in sets of one and two. Alicia, eyes drooping. Fred and George, leaning heavily against each other as they crossed the little room to drop heavily onto the bench to either side of Harry. Katie Bell, dragging her feet. And then Angelina, making a valiant but mostly failed effort to look something close to awake with her braided hair in wild disarray. 

“Mind telling us,” George said through a cavernous yawn.

“How you can possibly be,” Fred continued, fighting to keep his eyes properly open.

“So awake,”

“This early,”

“In the bloody morning?”

“Because whatever you’re taking, Harrykins,”

“We want some.”

Harry tried to fight down a laugh, but his efforts only ended up transforming it into a rather undignified snorting noise. The three girls were staring at them, now. Oliver was shaking his head, watching from where he stood beside the board. “I’m not taking anything. I just had a summer of conditioning. Sometimes I honestly feel like Keres doesn’t need sleep to function, and I liked eating breakfast with him. And that meant waking up at ungodly hours of the morning.”

“Keres.”

“Of course it’s dear darling Keres Alexos.”

“The things,”

“You do,”

“For love.”

“His soulbound is corrupting him, Georgie.” Fred’s effort at sounding serious fell incredibly flat, and snickers went up around the room. Though whether that was from his half-slumped position or how red Harry’s face had turned the little raven couldn’t be certain. “Making him functional while waking up early. And I don’t know if you’ve seen him studying with Hermione, but he’s actually doing his homework now instead of waiting till the last minute.”

“No, Fred! Can’t be!” George turned to Harry, wide eyed with false betrayal. “Say it isn’t so, Harrykins! Tell me that tall dark and handsome from Durmstrang hasn’t gotten you to go all academic!”

“Alright, you lot. Torture Potter on your own time.” Wood managed to keep his voice serious and firm, but couldn’t fully stop the smile from forming on his face. “Now, since this is our first practice of the year we’re going to spend the first half inside going over the changes in strategy that I’ve put together since last year. We’ll be facing the Puffs first, instead of the Snakes, and we all know that they actually play instead of just resorting to dirty tricks so we’ll need to approach this seriously. Not to mention that the weather we’ll be playing in looks like absolute shite, so we’re going to have to account for that.”

The first hour and a half of the three hour practice, mercifully, was spent in the warmth of the changing room huddled around the chalkboard while Oliver went over the mentioned changes in strategy, the particular players to watch out for on the Badger’s team, and the best means of handling severely inclement conditions like what they’d apparently be facing as the forecast called for heavy rain conditions. The second half saw their Captain herding them out into the cold and mist, Harry assigned to acclimating himself to his new broom while Wood marched the chasers through their paces. 

The little raven quickly found that the Firebolt was well deserving of its reputation of ‘fastest racing broom in the world’ when he had the less than stellar idea to immediately push it to its full speed and nearly flew off the back end. After that, the majority of the remaining time saw Harry teaching himself how to pull the same pinpoint maneuvers he’d been able to on his Nimbus at nearly three times to speed as the last thing he or Gryffindor team as a whole needed was to have him slam into the stands while attempting to turn in pursuit of the snitch or fly wildly off course dodging a bludger.

When their practice came to a merciful end and they were finally released to return to the castle Harry couldn’t put his broom and Quidditch robes away quickly enough. Digging out the warmest clothing he had-a fitted jumper which Tom had only barely allowed entrance into his wardrobe, stained the deep red color of his House’s banner-and pulling it over his head before returning down the stairs to join Hermione by the fire. Finding her with the book that Tom had left them with.

He’d claimed that it would save them the trouble of spending late night after late night searching the Restricted Section in secret for a book which might not even be there but had failed to mention that the bloody thing wasn’t in english. The bushy haired witch had spent the better part of the past two weeks trying to translate it out of whatever language it had been penned in, but translation spells which worked quickly and on a large scale were-apparently-a lot harder to find and to cast than Harry would ever have imagined.

“Any luck?” he asked as he dropped into the overstuffed cushion beside her. Provoking the couch to let out a gasping wheeze. There was still about 40 minutes to breakfast, it was monday morning and no one else was even awake, let alone in their common room.

“Yes, actually.” She marked the page that she was on with a finger, flipped the cover closed and then turned to look at him. Only then did Harry notice that she was wearing glasses. “It wasn’t working out to try and use a large scale translation charm on the entire book-there’s probably one that exists, but it’s either well beyond school level or considered dark and thereby banned-so I decided to approach it from another angle and use a simpler spell which would translate single words at a time. But then I had the problem of having to cast it on every word if I were to use in on the book itself. Then I thought about your glasses and how they function as a means of improving vision; changing the way that the eye perceives what it’s seeing without actually changing the object itself.”

“And you cast the spell on the glasses?”

“And it worked.” Hermione said. “The spell works at the speed the eye travels, translating a single letter at a time, so that it appears as if the book is written in English without actually changing it. Which also means no one else can read it over our shoulder. And that’s probably a good thing, Harry. This book would definitely be banned for use at Hogwarts, if not in Britain as a whole.” Without warning, she pointed the tip of her wand into his face and said “Legerio!”

Momentarily blinded by a flash of light, Harry blinked rapidly and tried not to go cross eyed as Hermione pushed the book into his lap.

“I’m not certain what language it’s written in; it’s not Latin, it’s not Runes. I don’t think it’s Greek, unless it’s written in a truly archaic variant of the alphabet. Either way, it doesn’t matter: the spell I used only needs you to know the language you want it to turn into.” She said. “Take a look.”

Now that his vision had cleared, Harry looked down. The title embossed into the front of the book transforming before his eyes to read  _ The Ancient Ones _ . How old the book itself was and exactly where Tom had gotten his hands on it, he had no idea. Ultimately, it probably wasn’t important. “What all is in here? You’ve been reading it?”

“A bit. But I only came up with the solution last night, after you’d gone to bed, so I haven’t gotten very far.” She said. “But the table of contents makes it look promising. It talks about each of the Eternals in detail, and the realms they come from. What they represent. What they offer, in return for veneration. And it talks about their servants; there are creatures that exist in their worlds that have never been seen in ours, Harry. The magic that they must be capable of likely doesn’t even abide by the same laws as what we’re familiar with! Can you imagine running into one of them? How terrifying and wonderful it would be?”

Harry flipped to the mentioned table and scanned down the list until he found what he was looking for. Opening the book to its last third and quickly turning to the correct page.  _ The Kindly Ones _ unfurled before his vision, penned out in strong quill strokes above a picture of three terrible creatures with wings and horns and pointed teeth. 

“You’ve gone pretty far in.” Hermione noted, peering curiously over his shoulder. “What’s the sudden interest in Deathborne about?”

“Tom mentioned the Erinyes to me yesterday.” Not a lie, exactly. Just not the truth either. “I wanted to look into them a bit more. Before it slipped my mind. The term, I mean.”

“Also referred to as the Furies and the Erinyes,” she read aloud, “they are the children of Death and among the darkest creatures in existence. The Tormentors of wicked souls who have passed into the afterlife, and the hunters of those who would try to flee their judgement, they feed off of suffering and fear and are accredited with teaching mortals the Black Art of Necromancy. Why would Tom mention these things to you?”

“Er...I’d heard him talk about Deathborne before. He listed the different kinds and these ‘Furies’ came up.” Not a good lie at all but Harry was too distracted to care. The image of Tom, horns of gold sweeping up from his curls, wings on his back and with a whip wrapped around his arm like a serpent sparked something hot deep inside him that he didn’t understand and had no idea how to grapple with. And thinking of him wearing something as revealing as a chiton? Harry pushed the book back into Hermione’s hands and got to his feet, clearing his throat. “Let’s start heading down to breakfast.”

Slipping the heavy tome back into her bag, the bushy haired witch directed an odd look at him. Harry only caught it out of the corner of his eye, as he was trying desperately not to look at her directly due to the fact that his face was on fire. Distantly, and very far back in the depths of his mind, something was screaming. Probably his ability to ever look at his soulbound the same way again. “Harry, breakfast won’t even be served for ten more minutes.”

“Nothing wrong with being early, is there?” it sounded far more aggressive than he meant it to, but there wasn’t any going back now, so rather than address the matter the little raven turned and made his way hurriedly across the common room towards the portrait hole. Pushing it open and leaping down into the hall outside. Though she was still looking somewhat confused, Hermione followed him out with her bag slung over her arm. 

“Are you ok?” she asked,her expression neutral but her voice betraying her concern.

“Yeah. Just hungry. Long Quidditch practice. You know how Wood can be.” And it wasn’t untrue, though his sudden strange surge of...something unplaceable towards Tom had banked it a fair bit as it set his stomach roiling. Hermione didn’t question the matter again and they made the journey down to the great hall in companionable silence.

Draco was leaning against one of the pillars near the staircase when they arrived, alongside two other Slytherins whom Harry thought were named Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini, waiting for the doors to open and permit them entry for breakfast. Catching sight of them, he said something to the other boys and left them where they stood in order to approach.

“You had practice today, didn’t you? How was the broom?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered something under her breath along the lines of “boys” and “Quidditch”. 

Harry grinned, relieved to have something to get his mind off of whatever strangeness had occurred up in the Tower. “Bloody brilliant.” He said. “If you want to go flying later, you can give it a try. Just keep in mind that it’s hard to make hairpin turns right away.”

“Sounds like a plan to me, though Granger doesn’t seem terribly enthusiastic.”

“Unless you’re planning on getting a job as a Professional Quidditch Player the only function that sport has is to ruin your grade average.”

The Malfoy Heir let out an undignified snort. Harry raised an eyebrow but was summarily ignored. “Maybe if you’re like Weasel,” he easily sidestepped the light swat Hermione aimed at him, “but I’m capable of keeping up with my homework and practicing with my team. I have the highest scores in Slytherin.”

“But not the highest scores in our year.” 

Draco sent the raven an unimpressed glare. “You know as well as I do, Potter, that not everyone can be a bloody genius.”

“So you admit that she’s a genius?”

“I think my visions a fair sight better than yours.” Draco drawled. “Come on, the doors are open and I don’t know about the two of you but  _ I’m  _ starving.”

Exchanging grins, the two lions followed the pale blonde into the great hall. But when they tried to break away and head towards their House’s table, Draco grabbed them both by the arm. 

“Er...Gryffindor is over there.” Harry said, rather lamely. The other two Slytherins, who’d trailed Draco into the hall as well, were watching the display in ill-concealed and rather unfriendly confusion.

“I’m aware that Gryffindor is over there, but I’m not sitting with a bunch of lions alone. There’s two of you, so you’ll sit with us snakes this morning.” He said. “Besides, I need to talk to you about whether or not you’ve taken your Soulbound’s advice.”

“Potter is bad enough, Draco,” Theodore’s lips curled back over his teeth into a derisive sneer, “but you’re not really going to let a  _ mudblood _ sit at our table.”

“Watch your mouth, Knott!” The Malfoy Heir beat Harry to the punch in snapping at his fellow Slytherin. Blaise raised an eyebrow, but remained silent. “Magic is all that matters.”

“Oh? And what would your father think if he ever found out about this?”

“My father is encouraging ‘this’, actually.” Draco said, entirely unphased. Silver eyes cutting the other boy through. “You see, we’ve an alliance with Lord Gaunt-Peverell and wouldn’t want to step on his toes by not practicing the views of his faction.”

“That’s the new Lord in the Wizengamot, isn’t it?” The first time Blaise had spoken since they’d wound up thrown together. “The one who all but caused an uprising while speaking against that Umbridge woman’s bill?”

Leave it to Tom to nearly cause a riot on his first day. “That’s him.” Harry said.

“I heard from Pansy that she heard from her father that he has the Slytherin Lordship ring.” The Italian sounded only slightly interested, though the facade was of questionable facility. The little raven decided he wasn’t so bad, for a snake.

“ _ I _ heard from  _ my _ father that he’s an upstart fool. He’s sympathetic to Mudbloods and is trying to put on some sort of front of being connected to the Dark Lord but is really one of Dumbledore’s; they were seen together immediately after, headed out into  _ Muggle _ London.”

“Well, Lord Knott never was particularly known for his intelligence or taste, was he?” With a last snide grin in his yearmate’s direction, the pale blonde dragged the captive lions to the far end of the green and silver table before dropping into the bench. “Apologies. We might be ambitious, but most of us are rather stupid.”

Harry grinned and reached for a platter of biscuits. Hermione concealed a smile behind her hand. “You said you wanted to talk about Keres’ advice?”

“Yes. Mother was wondering whether or not you looked into it in the last letter that she sent me. Have you spoken to Professor Lupin about being tutored to cast the Patronus Charm yet?”

Hermione turned her head to join Draco in staring at him, expectant. Harry hastily shoved the buttered biscuit into his mouth but it only afforded him a brief respite from having to answer. “Well...not yet.”

“Harry!” Hermione scolded. “Keres is right to be concerned about the effect that the Dementors have on you. The Patronus Charm is the only thing which can really defend against them. And what happened on the express is a clear demonstration of the fact that we can’t entirely trust the Ministry to be able to control them.” Dropping her voice so that only the two boys could hear her, she said “and considering that he’s a younger version of Him, I’d rather not see what he’d do if you were to be hurt or worse.”

_ Probably go on a murderous rampage. _ Tom’s quiet explanation of his fears of losing him flashed through his head and he deflated slightly, feeling guilty and shoving a forkful of fresh fruit into his mouth. “I’ll go and talk to him after class.” He said. “He’s not at the staff table, so I can’t do it now.”

Apparently neither of his two companions had noticed and both turned to look up at the staff table. The seat which was usually occupied by their Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor stood empty. That was...strange.

“I wonder what’s wrong with him.” Hermione asked. “He’s been looking rather ill recently. More than usual, I mean.”

“The full moon was last night.” Draco said.

Harry raised an eyebrow at his friend. “What does that have to do with anything?”

Draco just shook his head. “Never mind. Even Dumbledore wouldn’t be that stupid.” Under his breath, he muttered “then again, he let the bloody Dementors onto the grounds so maybe he would.”

Giving the Slytherin a confused side eye, the little raven said “Professor Lupin might just be sleeping in a bit, or have come down with something. You did say that he looked ill, ‘Mione.” And he had. Drawn and tired, with sunken eyes and sallow skin.

“Maybe.” Though she didn’t look entirely convinced.

Lunch ended soon after and their classes passed with little fanfare, Harry lost in a haze of boring familiarity and a lacking anticipation towards being forced into asking for private tutoring. It wasn't that he disliked Professor Lupin-quite the opposite; the man was his favorite professor to date. In any subject-and it wasn’t that he didn’t understand Tom’s concerns-the effect the things had on him were truly awful and, from the way the first one had gone after him on the train, something about Harry seemed to attract them-but going to an adult who would look at him like a child and not an equal was Hermione's thing. And surely the man was already busy without having the added burden of teaching Harry highly advanced Magic’s added on top.

Or maybe it was because he begrudged having to learn from someone else when, had circumstances been different and the need been pushed out a few more years, he’d have been learning from Tom.

His state of partial autopilot came to an abrupt halt when, after taking his usual seat on the Gryffindor side of the classroom, Harry looked up and saw Snape.

“Father says he always wanted to teach Defense over Potions, despite the fact that he’s a genius at the craft.” Draco dropped into the entry seat beside him with a careless thump, ignoring the looks of hostility that most of the other Gryffindors shot at him. “Probably why he’s subbing in.”

Naturally, the blonde Slytherin would feel safe enough to come over to the Lion’s den when his Head of House was the only professor in the room. Internally, the little raven rolled his eyes.

“If someone has to step in for his classes today then Professor Lupin must be really ill.” Hermione said, from his other side. Leaning over the desk with an expression of concern on her face. 

“That or it’s something contagious.” Harry said. “We probably shouldn’t be bothering him, though. If he is really ill.”

Draco and Hermione exchanged weighted looks, eyebrows raised. The Slytherin smirked at him and said “were I you, Potter, I’d accept the fact that you’re not getting out of this.” He said. “You’re making an effort to talk to him about your tutoring if I have to drag you there, because I’m not dealing with an unhappy Keres. Not for you. Not for anyone.”

Harry didn’t really have much time to do more than huff and grumble at the pair of them in annoyance before Snape called the class to order and directed them to turn to a page quite a ways ahead of where they’d been, spending the period teaching them about Werewolves for some reason that the little raven couldn’t possibly fathom. When the lesson ended, Draco and Hermione worked together to keep him penned between them as they packed up their things and then shuffled him through the hall and around the corner to the tightly closed door of Professor Lupin. Proceeding, then, to stand and stare at him expectantly until Harry was forced to step forward and knock.

A long, heavy silence was all that met him from the other side. He tried again. And then a third time, just to satisfy his audience, before turning back to face them with a shrug. “Looks like he’s not in.” Or was too ill to answer, though at that point he’d probably already have gone up to the Hospital Wing.

Draco’s thin lips pulled downwards into a slight frown. Hermione sighed, but relented with a stern “we’ll just have to try again later.”

By this point, Harry knew better than to hope that she wouldn’t remember to make good on that much.


	22. The Silver Dragon

Remus Lupin had fond memories of Quidditch, though he himself had never been one for actually playing the sport. As a child, before the attack which had left him cursed into misery as a Dark Creature which the British magical community barely suffered to live, his father had taken him to view matches whenever they had taken place nearby. During his school days, both James and Sirius had been formidable members of Lion House’s team, responsible for many of Gryffindor’s victories during the six years that they’d been airborne beneath the red and golden banner. And now, he’d get to watch the last remaining member of his pack-his dear cub, who he’d barely gotten to see while his parents had been alive, during that painful time where it had been suspected that he, because of his condition, might have been a spy for the Death Eaters instead of Sirius and who now hardly knew him beyond his role as his Professor-play. Seeker. A natural on a broom. Provided with a Firebolt by his guardian, which struck him as somewhat irresponsible given its supposedly incredible top speed. The weather, admittedly, was less than stellar, the chill inherent to the season only further exacerbated by the presence of the Dementors, but the sheeting rain did nothing to dampen his excitement. Nor could it dampen his robes through the powerful water repelling charm he’d made certain to cast over himself before setting foot outside, though the icy sensation of the water was in no way lessened for the effort.

Thunder rumbled far off in the distance, beyond the mountains hemming the horizon. The towering, ancient trees of the Forbidden Forest hissed and shook in the whipping wind. The terrible conditions had done nothing to lessen the typical crowds, but Lupin had managed to find himself alone in a bubble of space between two large groups. Or, at least, he had been alone up until a split second before a voice spoke from beside him. “Charmed weather. Bodes about as well as a thestral’s hoof to the head.” 

Low and smooth and unfamiliar, he jumped. Head whipping around to face the source as Moony snarled from his place curled deep inside his chest. Hackles on end and teeth bared at the dark, cloying utterly  _ icy _ presence that the man-though he doubted, very much so, that ‘man’ was an accurate description of something with an aura like that-exuded with the force of a crashing tide. Even at rest, this stranger’s magic was so vast and so powerful that it charged the air around them. So much so that, given the storm, Lupin might have been convinced to fear for a pending lightning strike.

He was tall, this man. Six feet, easily, if not slightly more, with broad shoulders. His hair was dark-either deep brown or black-and glossy; crowning his head with curls. A single rogue fox lick dangling between indigo eyes. His features were harsh cut, as if formed from stone, but no less beautiful for it. Too perfect, almost. Leaving Lupin of half a mind to fear he was looking at an Daione Sidhe. But the faint imprint of the wand holstered at his wrist, the heel of its handle a bone white color which caused a sickening lurch deep inside him, was enough to convince him that this dark figure was no Faerie, Unseelie or otherwise. The robes he wore were fine, well tailored and black as night and, beneath the heavy pall of petrichor and wet earth which hung heavy around them, he smelled of peppermint, asphodel and pomegranate.

There was a dog at his side. A massive, shaggy, coal black,  _ grim like _ dog. A dog like the one Sirius could transform into at will, and that the Weasley boy had mentioned in their compartment on the train. So this was Keres Alexos? This dangerous wizard with an exceedingly dark nature who left his wolf reacting as if it were a dementor paying him company instead of something wearing at least the outward skin of a human was the one that had been looking after his cub?

“Stop staring at the poor man, Snuffles. That’s very impolite. We haven’t even introduced ourselves yet.” He was shaken from the mild stupor of horrified surprise he’d fallen into when the man spoke again. Extending a pale, long fingered hand towards him. Cordial, at least in appearance. The smile of a serpent on his face, showing only the tips of his canines. “Keres Alexos. And this,” a rather careless looking gesture towards the dog, “is Snuffles. He’s questionably behaved, I’ll admit, but won’t bite anyone so there’s no need to look at him like he’s a bloody cerberus.”

He took the offered hand, if only because he didn’t know what else to do in that situation. Being simultaneously stared down by the odd pair: dark wizard and, potentially, escaped traitor and serial murderer. Keres’ hand was cold from the torrential rain, but not unnaturally so. He had a good handshake and a strong grip and, for a brief moment, from a spark of something malicious in those dark eyes, Lupin got the impression he could have easily snapped all the bones in his hand had the desire seized him at the wrong moment. Instead, his smile widened. It didn’t make it any warmer.

“I’ve given you my name.” A prod, edged but not insistent. Not yet. They were nearly to the pitch, now. The hulking form of the stands looming through the rain; a flapping mass of fabric in a riot of colors. Snuffles trotted happily along beside them, splashing through puddles and flinging muddy water up onto his dark companion, prompting Keres to glance down at him and curl his lip in a snarl that made his hair stand on end. “The polite thing would be to give yours in return, would it not? My home country though Britain may well be, I’ve spent my life in northern Europe so it’s possible costumes here are different.”

“Not different, no. I suppose I’m a bit out of sorts today. Call it the weather.” Lupin would have to admit he was surprised that he managed to force his face into a convincing facsimile of a friendly smile. “Remus Lupin.”

“Ah, the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. The one who saved Harrison with a well timed Patronus.” There was something about the effect of this man that made his skin crawl and his spine turn to ice. The silk in his voice, perhaps? The ever present, but well hidden mockery in the gleam of his eyes and the tilt of his smirk? Whatever it was, it felt like speaking to a snake: no Parseltongue needed. “Thank you. Truly. You saved my soulbound's life, as well as that of the incompetant dunderhead currently calling himself the British Minister for Magic.”

His chuckle sounded brittle even to his own ears. A few more feet and he’d be able to make for the staff stands without appearing impolite or desperate to escape. “I wasn’t aware Cornelius Fudge had been in that compartment.”

“I suppose I should word it differently, then. You have my gratitude, not only for saving Harrison’s life but for saving me the effort of committing homicide. The Killing Curse wouldn’t have done justice to the crime his incompetence would otherwise have caused and I’d have had to get...creative.” Leaving the prospect of a barely avoided high profile murder hanging between then, and with a last long glance by the dog, both Keres and Snuffles turned abruptly and disappeared into the milling crowds. Headed in the general direction of the red and golden Gryffindor stands.

It took everything in him not to spin on his heel and bolt for the staff stands, Moony’s hackles remained raised even well after he’d settled into the bench beside McGonagall and started up an idle conversation on teaching techniques. Quieting once Madam Hooch had the opposing Team Captains step forward to shake hands, and then unleashed the snitch. Both Gryffindor and Hufflepuff kicked off in a whirl of red and yellow. Harry instantly recognizable for the noticeably greater speed at which he zipped away from the rest of the pack on his considerably superior broom.

The conditions swiftly set to work making the game hell for the players. Keeping a grip on the quaffle became more difficult than usual. Both hitting and dodging bludgers became all but impossible. How the snitch was meant to be located in such a storm was a real question even had both seekers possessed the vision of a hawk. Ultimately, the Gryffindor Captain-Oliver Wood, if he recalled his student’s name correctly-pleaded with Madam Hooch to call a break. Hermione and Keres, once again with the hound at his side, both descending from the Gryffindor stands to speak to Harry. The young witch casting a charm over Harry’s glasses to keep the rain at bay, while the Dark Wizard contributed a powerful warming charm, both recognizable at that distance only by the associated wand movements. 

The game began again with renewed fervor. The storm, too, seeming to grow stronger. The chill deepening far past its natural boundaries, shifting the pouring rain to something almost like snow. A feeling of dread steadily mounting within him as both seekers suddenly rocketed upwards.

And then Dementors were everywhere.

Every one of the monsters present on the ground had descended on the pitch at once, swooping down like a terrible black cloud of cloying darkness. All of them, it seemed, focused in on the little wizard who immediately abandoned pursuit of the snitch in a doomed effort to escape. Lupin was on his feet alongside all the other Professors a moment later, pulling his wand and beginning the familiar circular movement of the only spell which stood a chance against a Dementor. Already aware that it would be all but ineffective. No where near strong enough to drive so many of the things away at once. Decaying talons were reaching out. Clawing at Harry. Ripping him off his broom. And then, from the Lion House’s stands, a voice roared “ _ Expecto Patronum!” _ and something horned and winged and absolutely massive erupted skyward in a blinding flash of silver. Its hulking form streaking past the falling third year even as Dumbledore, the only one of them seemingly not frozen in the horror of it all, acted to arrest his surely fatal fall. Crashing into the oncoming tide and forcing them back and away, disappearing beyond the clouds.

He wasn’t certain when he started moving, if he took the stairs or somehow jumped down onto the field while managing to avoid breaking both his legs, but he made it to Harry’s side at the same moment as Keres. That awful, white wand glinting in the silvery light of the returned patronus as he fell to his knees. The dog skidding to a stop beside him, yelping shrilly, hair and tail on end. Closer, and no longer flying, Lupin could see it clearly now. A dragon. A Horntail. The argent luminance of its looming form made the lines of concern on the Dark Wizard’s face appear deeply cut into his face. As if chiseled in across his features by a wood carver with an axe to grind.

Keres didn’t waste much time nor did he make any effort to call out to the obviously (at best) unconscious boy. Checking first that he was still warm to the touch, and then that he had a pulse before sweeping him up into his arms and running. Snuffles bounding at his side. The patronus dissipating. All wariness forgotten and without a care for the fact that both Dumbledore and three smaller figures-one with the flaming ginger hair recognizable of the Weasleys-were rushing towards them, shouting-though what they might be saying was lost beneath the wind and rain and thunder-or for the fact that he was covered in mud he took off after him.

The slant of the hill did nothing to slow the other wizard’s pace towards the castle, dark robes a whirling tail of shadow behind him through the driving storm. The massive doors of the castle banging open to permit both men, and the still whining dog, through. For a man who’d attended school at Durmstrang, Keres Peverell had an astounding ability to maneuver through Hogwarts’ sprawling halls and arrived in the Hospital Wing without a single misstep. Nearly trampling over Madam Pomrey as he went.

“Merlin! What happened?”

The brunet’s attempt to speak resulted in a series of livid hisses no where near approaching English, lips pulled back over his canines as he lowered the little raven into the nearest empty bed. The grim dog leaping up beside him and pressing its body as close as it could, as if to offer warmth.

“Dementors, Poppy.” Lupin told her, still barely able to believe what had happened himself. “Hundreds of them. They flew into the middle of the Quidditch Game and all of them went for Harry at once. It’s only because of his soulbound, and the Headmaster, that this didn’t end worse.” Turning to the other man, agitation clear in the curl of his shoulders and the set of his face, he said “that was the most powerful Patronus I’ve ever seen.”

“Andathas rishan salithe!” More hissing, discernable now as a language of some kind rather than a mere product of anger. Keres’ eyes flashed as he drew himself up to his full height. One of the muscles in his jaw jumping as his teeth clenched. “Kindly excuse me while I go _murder_ Cornelius Fudge!” Shoulder checking Lupin as he passed, and nearly bowling him over, the other wizard stormed from the hospital wing and vanished back into the hall. A snarling bark of “ _not_ _now_ , Lucius!” echoing back to them from further away a moment later.

The grim dog huffed, then turned its attention back to Harry and whined plaintively. Reaching up with one paw and using it to delicately touch the little raven’s cheek, as if in hopes of eliciting some sort of reaction. None came.

“Will he live, Poppy?”

The mediwitch looked incredibly severe as she conducted a swift but thorough medical scan. “He should recover fully, yes. And regain consciousness within an hour or so. It’s in part due to the exposure to the Dementors and in part due to the pressure of a fall from so high up that he was knocked out in the first place.” She said. “He’ll certainly have bruises, but those won’t last for long at all.”

“A relief to hear.” Lupin said, not turning his head as the doors behind him swung open again with the low groan of hinges. “Hopefully, Cornelius will have made it to Dumbledore’s office before Keres can get to him. Harry has gone through enough in his life without having to deal with his soulbound being thrown into Azkaban for killing the Minister for Magic.”

“I’m sure I’m not the only one among the castle’s staff who would be willing to help him destroy the evidence, Remus. Allowing Dementors onto the grounds of the school was preposterous, incredibly dangerous, and this is the second time that those things have attacked the same student. At this point, I can only say Cornelius has it coming.”

Someone laughed from the doorway. “Rather vicious of you.”

Lupin whirled around, narrowly restraining the urge to draw his wand. Draco, Hermione, and Ron-the latter glaring at the Slytherin student, who ignored him in favor of seating himself at Harry’s bedside-while the Malfoy Lord, blonde hair trailing down his back, approached at a much more sedate pace. Silver eyes resting on the unconscious form of the Gryffindor on the bed.

“The Minister has already been warned that further aggression by the Dementors against Harrison would be met with Keres’ distinct...displeasure. You’re correct, Madam, to suggest he has it coming.” He said. “No need to look so threatened, Lupin.”

“What are you doing here, Lucius?”

“I hadn’t thought it that strange to be visiting the bedside of one of my son’s friends, out of concern for his well being in the wake of an attack by hundreds of Dark Creatures who have no business being anywhere near underaged students.”

“Harry doesn’t want a Death Eater’s concern!” 

“Ronald!”

Lupin turned his head, keeping a wary eye on the other man through the periphery of his vision, to find the Weasley boy glaring at Lucius. Face nearly as read as his hair. Draco sent him a brief, rather disgusted glance before dismissing him as not worth his attention. Hermione looked absolutely scandalized.

“What?” Ron demanded. “It’s true, ‘Mione! He’s a bloody Death Eater and is the one who gave Ginny  _ His  _ diary in the first place!” He turned his glare on Draco. “Or have you forgotten about that, with how much you two have been hanging around with the ferret lately.”

The Malfoy Heir flashed a bone rending sneer at the other boy. “At least I’ve never found myself throwing up slugs, Weasel.”

“Draco, please! Don’t encourage him!”

“Why you-!” 

For a moment, it looked as if the Gryffindor might lean across the bed and slug him, but the Mediwitch put her foot down before the situation could escalate further. “Mr Weasley! I will not have violence in my infirmary!” She said. “If you and Mr. Malfoy cannot tolerate each other peaceably, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Wha-? Why not him too?” He pointed an accusing finger at Draco.

Lucius’ lip curled. “Did your parents never teach you that it’s rude to point, boy?”

Impossibly, Ron’s face became even redder. “Why you slimy-!”

“ _ Mr. Weasley!” _

“Just go, Ron!” Hermione hissed at him, eyes narrowed. “The two of you snapping at each other is the last thing Harry needs right now!”

The flush had spread to his ears and down his neck. “Oh, so you’re choosing the snakes too, are you?”

The witch looked at once exasperated and annoyed. “The only one ‘choosing’ anything is you, Ron! Nothing’s stopping you from coming back except your own attitude; you can’t really tell me you don’t see that!” Apparently he didn’t see it because the second youngest Weasley turned tail and stormed from the infirmary again. The door swinging shut behind him with a dull thud. Draco snickered, but his amusement only lasted a few seconds before Hermione rounded on him. “And you! There’s absolutely no need to lean into it and goad him, feud or not! Honestly!”

The Slytherin jumped in his chair and half raised his hands, though whether in defense or in surrender Lupin couldn’t tell. Beside him, Lucius looked amused. “Might I have a word, Mr. Malfoy?”

There was a slight hardening around the man’s eyes at the failure to use his proper title, but Lucius didn’t call him on it. “Of course. Shall we step out, or merely take it across the room?”

“No need to step out.” The hospital wing was large enough that they could remove themselves from the earshot of the two students sitting vigil beside Harry’s bed, and he didn’t really want to have his eyes off the raven in case the dog really was Sirius in disguise. “Just over here.”

How willing the blonde was to go along with his requests struck him as a bit more than mildly suspicious. “You had something to say to me?”

“Claims of the Imperius aside, Malfoy, you and I both know where your support truly lay during the First War.” He said. “Why are you really here?”

“The Malfoy family’s support has always lain with the Dark. We hold values that historically align with that faction, over that of the Light. My allegiance to the Dark Lord was enforced by mind altering magics; I was not myself during that time. The Wizengamot has ruled that I am not guilty, due to such extenuating circumstances.” The calm, silken delivery of a politician. Lupin couldn’t claim to be surprised. “That having been said, my currently held allegiance to Keres Alexos-Lord Gaunt-Peverell-is one of my own choice. He is a powerful man with good ideas. Willing to wrestle with the outdated philosophies of the Light, and cut away the outdated philosophies clinging to the Dark. He’s done much, in recent weeks, to open my eyes to certain truths.”

“Truths?” his eyebrows had vanished into his hairline.

“Magic is might. The focus on blood is nonsense that will only be the death of us. And that the Dark Lord’s mad rhetoric would only have led to ruin as surely as blindly following Albus Dumbledore down his Muggle loving path.” He said. “Harrison is more precious to Keres Alexos than anything else. As such, in the interest of the burgeoning political tie between our families, I’ve every intention in assisting in looking after his health.”

Draco’s shift away from his family’s widely known, very public, typical Pureblood stance against all things Muggle and Muggleborn was understandable. The boy was young. Could still learn better of prejudice and overwrite what he’d been taught in earlier years. But Lucius? There was more going on here than a mere alliance with a new, otherwise unknown Lord with a couple of powerful titles to his name. And he suspected it had something to do with the black aura Keres radiated, alongside his horrible white wand.

The only white wand he’d ever seen prior to it had belonged to…

“I’m glad to hear that that’s the case.” Just how many devils had Harry wound up surrounded by? And what steps might he be able to take to remove him from the situation? “I’m sure you’ll understand, then, my own desire to do the same. He is, after all, the only son of two of my dearest friends. I’ll be sitting in with him as well.”

Any negative reaction to that much the Malfoy Lord might have had was kept concealed beneath his pureblood mask.

“ **_:Open!:”_ ** As an Heir of one of the four founders of the ancient school, the demand in Parseltongue was sufficient to prompt the gargoyle statue guarding the entrance to the staircase leading up to the Head Master’s office to spring aside to let him pass. His footsteps thundered off the stone walls as he ascended, bursting through the door at the top without bothering to knock. Fawkes startled on his perch, red and golden feathers puffing up in alarm as the Phoenix regarded him with narrowed eyes. Multiple spindly instruments Tom didn’t recognize and didn’t care to enquire after littered the room, resting atop a number of small tables which left the office rather cluttered. Several of the portraits hung on the wall grumbled in annoyance at the explosiveness of his entrance. Dark eyes ricocheted around the room, searching and furious, but there was no sign of Cornelius Fudge. “ _ Where is he!” _

Dumbledore regarded him calmly from his position behind the desk, unconcerned by the crackle of his magic, the billowing of his robes or the glint of scarlet in his eyes. Silent until the last thread of the young Dark Lord’s patience had all but snapped, he finally pushed a little pewter dish full of vibrant yellow candies towards him. “Lemon sherbert, Tom?”

“No Muggle candy, thanks. I will take the Minister’s head on a plate, though!” He spat, teeth bared.

“Cornelius isn’t here. Didn’t feel comfortable venturing through the floo once I mentioned your presence on the grounds.” Ah, so the bowler wearing bastard remembered the promise that he’d made him? Good. The savage pleasure which shot through his chest at the thought of him made to cower merely at the notion of his presence wasn’t anywhere near enough to quench the embers of vengeance and rage which burned within him. He wanted blood. His rightful pound of flesh for all he might have lost, and then the associated interest. Preferably still twitching from where it had been torn away from the whole. “He has agreed to withdraw the Dementors to beyond the border of the grounds. I hope that much placates you?”

“Spare me!” Tom paced the length of the office, back ramrod straight, then came to a stop again where he’d first been standing. Eyes narrowed. Resisting the urge, by the skin of his teeth, to smash anything and everything that he could get his hands on; the instinct to destroy which had been bred into him down his twisted line, further exacerbated by his nature as one of Death’s hunters. “I’ll be ‘placated’ when Fudge is  _ buried _ !”

“You mean politically, I hope.” He could only snarl in answer and begin to pace again. Holding down his other half took nearly all his concentration. Dumbledore knowing of his presence was something he could work with. Their little game was something he could manipulate to his benefit. But all of that hinged on the man’s delusion that he could be ‘saved’. Turned on to a ‘better’ path. And that all rested delicately on him assuming the Eternal he was bound to  _ wasn’t _ Death. “Have you given any further thought to my offer, Tom?”

He forced himself to still, back turned to the Headmaster, still sitting behind that heavy wooden desk. Staring, hard, at the cabinet which housed Hogwarts’ pensive. The door left slightly ajar; a pale, bluish silver glow leaking free onto the floor. Had he been reviewing memories recently? If so, what had they been of? “I’ve considered matters. Yes.” The older man’s pale blue eyes rested heavy on his back, expectant, but he didn’t press him. Tom allowed the silence to draw itself thin until he saw fit to break it. “I told you, when we last spoke, that I found all of what you put forward to be...compelling. Upon giving it further thought, it seems to be in my best interests. I had wanted to...distance myself from Voldemort’s methods.” He didn’t need to turn around to know that Dumbledore was smiling. His blue eyes twinkling in that infuriating way that made him want to pluck them from his skull with his talons, perhaps with more violence than was necessary. The fool had grown soft in his old age. He’d tolerate the matter, and all that it brought with it, to better his position in the long run. It was no different than anything else that he’d done in his life. “This does little to change our relationship. I will not become a simpering imbecile looking up at you with doe eyes as if you’re a paragon of virtue. I tolerate you. Nothing more. A mutual gain.”

“Of course.” The amusement in his tone made it clear he thought that fact could change, one day. Tom held himself back from laughing at the idiocy of it all.

“And tell that idiot Fudge that he’d best never find himself alone in my company, because any such meeting will result in an unfortunate accident that he will  _ not _ survive!” Once more not waiting for anything like a dismissal he whirled from the Head Office as quickly as he’d come. Descending the stairs again and swinging by the Room of Requirement to retrieve the Diadem he’d neglected to collect the last time he’d been there, shrinking the box which contained it and dropping it into the pocket of his robes, he returned to the Hospital wing.

While he’d been away Harry had regained consciousness, and had been joined by the rest of Gryffindor’s Quidditch team and the Hufflepuff Seeker, who was midway through explaining to the little raven why he wholly disagreed with Madam Hooch’s call of a Badger House victory given that Harry had been closer to the snitch prior to the attack. Lupin, Hermione, Draco and Lucius were also present, looking on. Malfoy Senior receiving suspicious glances from almost all of the present Gryffindors.

“Are you torturing the Lions, Lucius?”

Everyone present jumped at the sound of his voice, heads turning as he approached. Sirius tapped his tail twice against the sheets of the cot. Harry smiled. “Hi, Keres.”

“Hello to you as well, Little One. I’m glad to see you awake.” He said, then turned expectant eyes on the Malfoy Lord.

“Not torturing them, no.” 

With a soft assenting sound, he circled around the cot to take the seat closest to where his soulbound sat atop the bed. Gently taking his hand. “How do you feel?”

Harry sent him a rather deadpan green eyed look, then said “like I’ve been attacked by 100 dementors at once and then fell off my broom.”

Draco rolled his eyes. Hermione shook her head. A few of the onlooking Gryffindors let out almost nervous titters of laughter. “I suppose that much is to be expected.” He said, pushing black hair back from the smaller wizard’s brow. Resisting the urge to trace his scar with his fingers. “How are your sessions going?” When Harry stared at him like a deer caught in the sights of a hunter, Tom raised an eyebrow. “Harry?”

“I...haven’t gotten the opportunity to ask about them yet.”

Annoyance sparked within him, but he held it down. It would help nothing to lose his temper, and the boy had already gone through enough for the day. Taking a moment to retain a calm pace to his breathing, he ran his fingers through the raven’s wild hair and said “well then, it’s a good thing that Professor Lupin is sitting here with us now, isn’t it? Will you ask him, or shall I?” The threat of ‘I absolutely will before I leave if you don’t’ didn’t need to be spoken.

Harry sighed but, resigned, turned to the other man. “Professor? Would you...be able to teach me how to cast the Patronus Charm? The Dementors seem to be attracted to me more than other people for some reason and it’s the only way to keep them away, so…”

The Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor looked between them for a moment before he spoke. “Normally I wouldn’t agree to attempting to teach something so advanced to a Third Year student, but given the circumstances I’d be happy to do all that I can to help you learn to protect yourself.” He said. “How does next week sound. Thursday, perhaps?”

“I think that fits in well.” Tom told him with a nod. “Either Lucius or I will be collecting Harrison for Samhain on Friday, so there wouldn’t be time then. And, if I am able to get away from my work for the holiday, I’d like to give him the weekend at home-even more so after this-so Saturday and Sunday wouldn’t end up working either.” Turning to Harry, he sternly informed him “I expect you to update me regularly on your progress.”

“Yes, Keres.” Harry grumbled. “Can you stay, or do you have to leave?”

Instinct hissed to stay, to remain there with him until Harry was able to leave the Hospital Wing behind, but Tom knew he couldn’t. From the set of his expression, Harry knew it too. “I’m sorry, Precious. But if I’m going to have any chance of getting away at Samhain and still finishing my hunt by the end of the year I can’t linger. I still have four of them to find, and five to destroy.” He leaned forward to press a kiss to his temple, then rose. “ **_:Send Sirius back down to Hogsmeade once you’re released from the Hospital Wing. We’ll go over what is best done about Pettigrew over the Christmas hols, and make our move on him closer to the end of the year.:”_ **

He nodded, fiddling with the lip of the sheets folded messily across his lap. Reluctantly, Horcrux in his pocket and wand sheathed at his wrist, Tom began the trek out of the castle.


	23. The First Lesson

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you guys are interested in the state of my fics-updates, delays, hiatuses etc-or just want another place to talk to me, comment and ask questions my tumblr is this: https://literaryavalanche.tumblr.com/

_ Harry had been in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor’s office before, during Lockhart’s tenure while he’d been forced to assist him in autographing entire piles of images of the man smiling stupidly into the camera and listen to him aspose ‘advice’ about how fame was fickle and celebrity did as celebrity did-for all the help that was apparently meant to be-and was more than merely relieved to discover that he wouldn’t be forced to endure anything of the similar sort again. Professor Lupin had not only retooled the space into something actually workable-the furniture had been rearranged to make the office appear larger, and to conceal the ridiculous rollers left behind from the massive portraits of himself that the fraud from the year prior had had littering the area-and a handful of brackets filled with flickering candles had been added to the space to shed an added bit of light. Behind the desk and beside a bookshelf full of numerous dusty tomes Harry thought Tom would have loved to get a hold of, a jar full of what looked like dried ginger and a misshapen skull, sat a massive tank full of water which contained an incredibly ugly creature Harry had never seen before. He’d even succeeded in ridding the space of the last lingering traces of the overpowering stench of garlic which had lingered even after Quirellmort had been gone for two years. _

_ Lupin himself stood beside the rattling cabin which the little raven knew contained the Boggart they’d practiced Riddickulus on during the first day of class, an identifiable bar of Honeydukes’ finest chocolate poking up out of the front pocket of his slightly shabby looking robes.  _

_ “Feeling better, Harry?” _

_ “Yes, Sir.” He said. Fred and George had managed to rescue his Firebolt from where it had ended up, stuck nearly up to the bristles in the muddy bank of the Black Lake, and had returned it to him as soon as Madam Pomfrey had seen fit to release him from the Hospital Wing. His bruises and the soreness which had come along with them had faded entirely after the second day, and the lingering chill of the far too close for comfort contact with more dementors than he’d ever care to see again had been remedied by Draco and Hermione making a combined effort to shovel chocolate down his throat at every possible occasion. “I was more shaken up than anything by it. I was told that Professor Dumbledore slowed my fall, so it must have been Keres that chased those things off? The last thing I remember before I passed out was something silver rushing by me.” _

_ The other man nodded, the set of worry to his features lessening but not going away. “Keres Alexos is a remarkable wizard indeed to have cast a Patronus that powerful.” He said. “His Horntail drove off all of them at once. The only other person I’d peg as capable of such a thing is Dumbledore.” _

_ Well, given that Tom was actually the Dark Lord’s younger self and one of Death’s highest enforcers that much didn’t exactly strike Harry as much of a surprise. Never mind the fact that he was more focused on another aspect of what Lupin had just said. “Horntail?” He repeated. “Professor, Keres’ Patronus is a Basilisk. Can they change?” Tom hadn’t said anything about that, when they’d spoken briefly of the Charm in the library of Slytherin Manor. Only that its form was determined by the internal traits of the caster or the caster’s ‘eternal love’. _

_ “Yes. They can change. But it’s very rare that it happens.” He said. “To summon a corporeal Patronus, one must first conjure their very happiest memory. Something which fills them with the same emotion required to power the spell: joy in its purest form. The summoned guardian will then take on the form of that person’s innermost being.” _

_ “What makes it change?” _

_ “The contents of the memory.” Lupin said. “If all of your happiest memories contain someone, and their presence or something about them is the reason that that memory is a happy one, then the summoned guardian will instead take the form of theirs. In a sense, a very strong and intimate bond between two people can result in an exchange of guardians as a Patronus is a projection of all that one seeks safety in: it’s a sure sign of trust and of the fact that that other person is viewed as a protector or a place of safety.” Tom had been right, it seemed, in half-jokingly calling him a Horntail. But, by far, the more important realization was that Tom...thought of him as something safe? Something that could protect him? He was still a child. He was nothing compared to him, when it came to sheer power or knowledge or experience. All he really had was dumb luck and good help; without that he’d have long been dead. It didn’t make sense. The little raven couldn’t comprehend what logic could possibly be behind such a notion and it must have shown on his face because the other man spoke again. “It’s not always literal, Harry. It might merely be a sign that Keres finds a peace in your presence that can’t be found elsewhere. It’s not surprising, given that you’re soulbound.” _

_ Soulbound. Soulmates. Of course they’d exchange guardians; it was merely an extension of the rest of what they were. How could it come as a surprise that Tom felt the same comfort being with him as Harry himself did whenever the older man was around. Even when they’d first found each other, while he’d still held the suspicion that the younger Voldemort would suddenly turn on him like the diary had, being near him had just felt right to the core of him in a way he could never have hoped to put to words. Like a place of refuge after far too long alone in the cold. “Do all soulbounds switch patronuses?” _

_ There was a short silence before his Professor spoke again. “I’ll be honest, Harry, I’m afraid that I don’t know. Soulbonds are incredibly rare in our world and little is known about what all that having one entails; there’s research being done on the matter by the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Mysteries but the Unspeakables who work there are notoriously tight lipped about what they find.” He said. “Now, I think we’ve begun to stray away from the reason that we’re here and I’d hate to give poor Keres more reason to worry after you.” There was something almost skittish to the way that he said ‘poor Keres’. Harry couldn’t help but wonder if that was more due to the flash Tom had revealed of his violent temper or the conversation that he’d had with Lucius which he’d been told about by Hermione after all three adults had left. Though none of them had managed to overhear what had been said. “I’m sure you remember this cabinet?” _

_ Harry nodded. “Yes, Sir.” _

_ “Good. We won’t be using the Boggart for Riddikulus today; the form it takes to represent your deepest fear will serve well to place the necessary pressure on you to ensure that you’ll not only be able to cast the Patronus Charm but be able to cast it in the presence of a Dementor. Though the effects will still be dampened enough that they won’t cause you any undue harm.” Smiling at him, Lupin tapped the pocket containing the chocolate bar. “I’ll be giving this to you on your way out, even still. Please make sure to eat it.” _

_ “Yes, Sir.” _

_ “We’ll go over the incantation and wand movement before we start attempting to practice with the Boggart.” The older wizard raised his wand arm and slowly waved his wand in a wide circle. “Now, the wand movement for the Charm is a circular motion. Often, drawing multiple circles has been found to increase the power and chance of success in casting…” _

Though Harry still wished that he’d been able to learn the spell from Tom, he’d been pleasantly surprised to discover that lessons with Professor Lupin had been the most fun he’d had with something school related in as long as he could remember. He’d mastered the wand motion and pronunciation quickly, and they’d moved on to attempts in the face of the Boggart. Though the thing didn’t have anywhere near the potency of a real Dementor, repeated exposure had quickly begun to wear on him and by the end of their first lesson he’d been happy that Professor Lupin had had the foresight to come with a chocolate bar. There’d been no headway in actually managing to cast the charm, but the older wizard had seemed satisfied so Harry supposed there had been some manner of progress which he wasn’t aware enough of the intricacies of learning the charm to notice.

Harry was shaken from his musings by twin thumps on either side of the bench at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall; Hermione had refused to leave the common room on account of an upcoming exam in her Arithmancy class and Draco was sitting with the rest of Slytherin House, still refusing to come near the Lion House’s table in any permanent capacity, so that ruled out two options immediately. Removing his half-focused gaze from the plate of shepherd’s pie he’d been picking at, he found the twins staring at him with matching roguish grins.

“Thought we recognized you from down on the other end of the table.”

“Sitting by yourself.”

“All alone.”

“Staring off into space.”

“Daydreaming, I don’t doubt.”

“About Keres, I’m sure.”

“We’re not interrupting something, are we?”

“I think I can manage to make time for the two of you.” Harry said around a grin of his own.

“Oh, you hear that Fred? Harrykins here thinks he can ‘make time’ for us.”

“Darling, this one. A real dear if I do say so myself, Georgie.”

“So,” both twins turned their full attention back to him, “spill it. What was it about your soulbound that has your mind so occupied this time?”

“His dashing face?”

“His broad shoulders?”

“The rumble of his voice?”

“The heroic way he scooped you up off the ground and ran you straight to the hospital wing?” Fred and George both made a show of swooning and Harry tried to cover his laughter by rolling his eyes.

“I hate to burst your bubble but I was thinking about Professor Lupin.”

“Lupin?” George repeated with a theatrical gasp. “Really likes the older men, this one.”

“If I ‘really liked the older men’ I’d have been thinking about Dumbledore.” George choked on his pumpkin juice and Fred muttered something under his breath about his ‘cheek’. Harry just shook his head and kept talking. “And I’ll have you know that what I was thinking about was my private lessons on the Patronus charm. Not anything else. I’m sure that he’s a great man, but I have everything I could ever want or need in Keres.”

“Everything he needs, huh?”

“He almost sounds offended by the notion, Georgie.”

“Not offended, no. I know the two of you better than to think you’re serious.” Harry said. “Did the two of you need something?”

“Did we need something, he asks.”

“Well, Harrykins,”

“Maybe we do.”

“More than anything we really just wanted to make sure you knew.”

“That you’re still welcome to come by the Burrow.”

“For the christmas holidays.”

“Despite what Widdle Ronnies might have to say about the matter.”

“Unfortunately we do have some bad news.” Fred said.

Harry raised an eyebrow. “Well, lay it on me then.”

“Keres isn’t quite as welcome.”

“You see.”

“He makes Ginny.”

“Really nervous.”

“And Mum and Dad, well...they don’t want her to have to contend with that over the holidays.”

“I’m sure it won’t last forever. She’ll probably be used to him by next year. It’s just…”

“I understand.” And he did. He also doubted that Ginny would ever ‘get used to him’ considering what the diary had done to her. “And, to be honest with the both of you, I don’t think Keres would have the time to spend the entire break with me regardless. He’s incredibly busy at the moment hunting down artifacts for...his job.” It wasn’t entirely a lie, considering that Tom was an Erinyes and hunting down those who tried to escape from Death was part of their regular function ages ago. “I’ll definitely be able to come by the Burrow for the break, but Keres wants to have me come back to the manor for Yule. I think he’s also planning to drag me to the Malfoy Yule Ball; something about political alliances and appearances.” A pause in which Harry considered the pair for a moment. “You two don’t seem to mind as much as Ron does that I’m friends with Draco. He was pretty upset about it, considering what happened last year and the blood feud between your families.”

The twins exchanged glances. “The problem we may or may not have with the Malfoys shouldn’t affect you.” Fred said.

“Honestly, Harry, to compare us to Widdle Wonwon you really must think little of us.”

“We’ve never exactly adhered well with the rest of the family. Mum doesn’t approve much of the pranks and all.”

“Thinks we’d be better off putting our focus elsewhere.”

The pair shrugged. “What can you do, Fred?”

“Not much to do, to be honest with you Georgie.” Fred said. “You just get used to it after a while.”

“I certainly hope, Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley, that the thing you’re so resigned to getting used to isn’t your youngest brother’s blatant idiocy.” Snape’s black robes billowed impressively out behind him as he stalked up the aisle between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables towards them. “If you’re finished, Harry, accompany me while I collect Draco. Keres has requested that the hearth in my office be used to floo to Slytherin Manor for the Samhain ritual.”

“Well, looks like I have to get going.” Picking up his bag and slinging it over his shoulder, Harry rose from the bench where he was sitting. “I’ll see the two of you later?”

“For sure.”

“You’re not getting away from us anytime soon, mate, if that’s what you were hoping.”

With yet another smirk, Harry followed the Potions Professor across the Great Hall to the Slytherin table where Draco, his own bag balanced on his pointed shoulder, joined them.

“You do realize that he’s interested in the two of them, don’t you?”

Harry looked at the blonde wizard with confusion in his eyes. “Who’s interested in who?”

“Tom, you dullard! And in the twins. Though I’ll be damned to see a bloody Weasley go dark.” Draco arrested the sneer which tried to form on his face halfway through unfurling. “Honestly, I’m surprised they didn’t end up in the Snake Pit. Would have suited them better than Gryffindor.”

“Fred and George Weasley are too loud and brazen with their pranks and mischief to ever be serpents, Draco. Don’t be foolish.” Though there was something in the set of Snape’s features as he spoke that looked to the little raven like amusement.

“Because they can afford to be, since they’re in Lion House.” Draco said. “If they were to be forced to work under conditions where they couldn’t be so brazen about it they would be. They’re as Slytherin as Potter, here.”

“If you really think that, Draco, then you’re definitely on to something about Fred and George. After all, the Sorting Hat tried to put me in Slytherin.” Harry told him. “And I also wouldn’t be surprised if that’s true. Tom seemed pretty impressed with their creativity and ingenuity when they first met in Diagon, over the summer. Even bought them a book on prank related magic that borders on Dark. That doesn’t mean they’d agree to anything, though.”

“They’re the black sheep of their lot, Potter. They might well go along with our side of things for the sake of chaos alone.”

“That would all depend on how well they take the revelation of who Tom really is.” Harry said. “The diary that your father gave Ginny was a Horcrux: a dark object that contained a portion of the Dark Lord’s soul. It almost killed her. She’s their sister.”

“With enough resentment that doesn’t always mean much.” Draco said.

The hinges of the door to Snape’s office down in the dungeons emitted a raucous set of squeaks as they opened, and then swung heavily shut behind them. The little pot of Floo powder was removed from the mantle and offered to each of them in turn. “The Dark Lord was clear about the order of our arrival, for the sake of being allowed entry by the wards around the property. Harry first. Then Draco. I’ll follow behind the both of you.”

“Yes, Sir.” Draco said, emerald powder trailing from his fingertips as he took a pinch for himself.

Harry eyed the hearth dubiously for a moment before he took a deep breath and stepped into the flickering embers. “Slytherin Manor!”

He spun away in a burst of color and found himself ejected, a moment later, into the receiving room of the Dark Lord’s manor. He caught his left foot on his right, toppled forward and would have landed on the rug had Tom’s arms not wrapped around him to halt his fall. Face pressing firmly into the hard muscle of his chest and the fine robes he wore. Long fingers threading through his wild hair.

“It’s a good thing that I’ve come to be used to your spectacular entrances, Little One.” He gently propped the smaller raven up as Draco emerged in a flash of fire. Followed almost immediately by Snape. “Lucius arrived almost an hour ago and has been assisting me in setting up. We’d just finished a moment before you all arrived. We’ll begin the rite to honor Mother Magic at sundown, which is in,” his blue eyes flicked to the window nearby, “a handful of minutes. Come along.”

The hand which had been burrowed in his hair slipped down to the small of his back and began to steer him along through the familiar halls of the manor. Out of the back door and onto the sloping expansive lawns; the crisp clean air scented heavily with forest and salt from the nearby sea cliffs. An effigy of wicker had been erected not far from the house; the approximate shape and size of a man, stuffed full of various herbs and magical plants which Harry felt he should have been able to recognize but possessed the sneaking suspicion that he wouldn’t be able to, even after three years of Herbology. Beside it, in a small basket made of wood, sat a handful of glossy red apples. Enough for one for each of them.

“The first of us to be possessed of the favor of the Lady Mother would offer their gift back to her at the approach of the closing of the year, at the pass of Autumn into Winter on the waxing edge of Death’s time, as a way of honoring all that she had done for them and a sign of trust. In return, the Eternal would grant their gift again, renewed, once the effigy had burned to ash.” Tom bent and hefted the basket into his arms, pressing one of the heavy fruits into his hand. “Each of us will carve our names into an apple and offer them to the flames. You will lose your ability to connect to your magic for a short time. Do not panic when it happens. It is temporary. And the wards over the property will keep us well protected against any who might have a mind to strike at us while we are vulnerable.” Both of the other adults took the fruit that they were handed without an ounce of hesitation. Draco hesitated as he accepted his own, the features of his narrow face pinched sharp. Placing the now empty basket back onto the ground, he returned to the little raven and handed him the knife which he’d formerly had hanging at his belt. An athame with a narrow blade, its hilt inset with opals.

Writing on paper with a quill and attempting to carve letters into the rounded surface of a fruit with a knife were two very different things and the result was one that Harry doubted was legible. Tom didn’t say anything on the matter as he passed the blade to Draco, though, so he assumed everything would still work as it was meant to. The Slytherin’s efforts produced similar results. Draco frowned at the fruit in his hands and passed the knife to Snape, who passed it to Lucius, who at last returned it to Tom. The little raven was only mildly bothered to discover his soulbound perfectly capable of etching Tom Marvolo Riddle neatly into the apple, which he then placed inside of the wicker man’s chest like some strange misshapen organ. Harry stepped forward to follow his example, the other three present doing much the same, and soon all of their apples had joined the herbs and flowers which the figure had already been stuffed with.

In tandem, all three adults raised their wands and waved them in the same complex motion which Harry doubted he’d have been able to mimic had he tried. The resultant fire looked like the Bluebell Flames Hermione had conjured during their First year to get them past the Devil’s Snare but were much, much hotter. Hot enough that he could feel the heat on his face even at a distance of around ten feet from the effigy. Hot enough that the entirety of it-wood and leaf and fruit alike-went up in tongues of hungry blue fire near instantaneously.

He’d been warned that the ritual included a brief absence of his magic, but knowing it was coming did almost nothing to dampen the panic which welled up within him the instant that the connection snapped. Glancing to his right, Harry saw that Draco wasn’t much better off; his skin had taken on a faintly grey tinge of panic and his jaw was clenched tight. Catching his eye, he grimaced but said nothing.

Thankfully, the flames did their work quickly and the entirety of the wicker man and its contents were reduced to ashes in only a handful of minutes. His magic returned in a trickle, at first, and then in a rush. Flooding through him with far more strength than he could remember it having possessed before. Thrumming along his spine and curling in his belly. Charging his blood and begging to be used. 

“How are you feeling?” He looked up at Tom as he approached. The all but vanished fire light revealing the older wizard’s pupils had dilated until his blue eyes were reduced to deep pools of black.

“Bloody brilliant.” 

The brunet’s grin was a savage one which showed off his canines; just slightly too sharp to believably pass as human. “Good.” He said, sounding almost breathless. “ **_:Just wait until OUR sacred day.:”_ ** Yule. Death’s day. The darkest time of the year. Tom’s palm was large and rough and warm as it rested against his cheek and he leaned into it shamelessly. Uncaring for the fact that there were witnesses. The older wizard purred, the sound a rumble low in his throat, and pulled him against his chest. Possessive. Comforting. It would never be close enough. A sentiment which seemed to be shared by both of them. “Shall we adjourn inside, gentlemen?” he asked at last, reluctantly pulling his gaze away from Harry. “Kipsy and my other elves have made a spread of delicious desserts and it would truly be a shame to allow such effort to go to waste.”

As unwilling to stray from Tom’s side as the young Dark Lord was to release his grip on him, Harry allowed himself to be swept back towards the manor’s door a few steps ahead of the rest of their party.


	24. Little Hangleton and Back Again

_ The Hanged Man _ was the only pub in the tiny town of Little Hangleton; a disgustingly Muggle venue which struck him as about as clean as  _ The Hog’s Head _ on a bad day. Tom had little use for the place, but his apparition had been slightly off point of where he’d wanted to go and by consequence of his slight miscalculation the young Dark Lord found himself standing in the basement of the place, surrounded by untapped barrels of ale, sealed crates of dusty wine bottles and a stockpile of glasses no doubt meant as spares to replace those lost or broken throughout the natural course of business. Scoffing under his breath and pulling his wand from its place at his wrist, Tom quickly cast a glamor over himself both to make his clothing appear nondescript to any non magical onlookers and to make his features impossible to focus on to anyone who might otherwise be able to recognize him as a Riddle-once upon a time that might well have been the entire town, but with multiple decades intervening between his arrival there and the murder of the whole of the Muggle side of his family by his counterpart-and crossed the bare cement floor. His footsteps thudding heavy and harsh up the wooden staircase with a series of hollow sounding thumps.

The door at the top swung open with a creak and he stepped out into the pub proper, only to find himself nearly face to face with a woman who gave a start of surprise and took a step back from him. The look of confusion on her face quickly shifting into something stern as she opened her mouth to address him. “Sir, you can’t be back here. This area is restricted to staff only; I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Apologies, Ms. I lost my way while looking for the washroom.” Flashing a disarming smile, backed by a blinding good will that he in no way truly felt, Tom stepped around her and continued towards the door. “I’ll show myself out. Have a good day.”

He felt her eyes lingering on him. Gaze laden with suspicion against him for his status as an outsider and the expensive clothing that he wore. Tom disregarded her entirely as he pushed open the door and stepped out onto the street beyond. Pausing only long enough to peer towards the manor where his father and grandparents had lived in luxury while he’d been left to suffer alone in Wool’s Orphanage, curling his lip into a snarl, he instead charted a path towards where he recalled the Gaunt shack, where his mother had lived with his uncle and grandfather, stood.

It was truly a pity, Tom thought as he walked, that the man’s sins would have landed him in Magaera’s eternal care had he been judged as deserving to suffer for his crimes in life. Which he likely had been, as he’d lived a life of arrogance and moral weakness, and it was unlikely that Death-certainly as he was now-would have deigned to pardon such a wretched soul. It would have been justice, in a twisted way which sat comfortably inside his ribcage, that he have to face the child he’d abandoned for eternity. A greater justice than merely killing him, extinguishing his life in an instant, ever could have been. And greater closure for his years of suffering at the hands of the Matrons and the other children than Tom would ever truly have, given that it was Voldemort that had killed them. He had been taken before he could move on his plans.

But what was done was done and perhaps in time, once Harry had taken up his mantle as the Darkest of the Eternals and might be convinced to allow him such a boon, he could petition for a shift in the tending of that particular soul. He’d have to wait, regardless, so there was no point dwelling on such a thing now. Tom forced himself to push the matter from his mind and set his eyes on the building which now stood not all that far ahead of him, just off what passed in those parts as a road.

Though perhaps referring to it as a ‘building’ was going a bit too far. The structure which might have once been there had now all but melted into the surrounding greenery. Its wooden face was consumed by moss and climbing ivy which seemed to conspire together to pull it down into the devouring maw of the earth. He could sense dark magic laying heavy beyond the all but broken door; woven into thick threads like the web of a spider, waiting to trap any unwary thieves in the jaws of a curse no doubt equally as nasty as the potion that the retrieval of the locket had necessitated drinking.

Tom had learned from his last brush with one of Voldemort’s creations and approached with caution. Stretching his awareness outwards and around him as he moved to avoid accidentally tripping any of the taut stretched lines, he began the painstaking process of defusing and unwinding each and every one of them until, at long last and with the sun having climbed well beyond its highest point in the sky, he’d tugged the last of the hundreds of thousands of strings and received the satisfaction of witnessing the entire web unwind and drop away.

He could feel the presence of the Horcrux beneath him. The shack only had one floor. No basement. Which meant that it had been hidden beneath the floorboards. Tom crouched as his claws slid from their sheaths. Slipping the sharp curved points between two of the boards and prying them upwards until they gave way. Reaching down into the dark hole that revealed itself and wrapping his fingers around the box that he found there; small, thin and square.

It would seem that he’d found the Gaunt Lordship ring.

The lid creaked as it was flipped open. The rounded, jet black stone set into the golden band depicting the symbol of the Deathly Hallows. A flood of recognition surged through him like lightning the instant his fingers came into contact with the ring and, for a moment, he froze. Then a savage smirk twisted his lips like a writhing snake and a cruel laugh bubbled free of him, echoing off the liquifying walls like the croak of a crow.  _ My missing Lordship ring. Voldemort’s Horcrux. And a Hallow. _ Tom had never imagined a coincidence like this-not that the power of the resurrection stone was of any use to him-and doubted that Voldemort had had any idea what the true nature of the stone inset into the ring was. He likely wouldn’t have merely left it to gather dust and tarnish if he had.

Tom slipped the ring onto his finger for further consideration at a later time, reveling in the hiss of just detectable power as it prickled along her skin. Marvolo Gaunt wouldn’t have had enough capability to realize what he’d had nor would Morfin have, though they’d been keener of mind about it than his counterpart to keep it close at hand.

_ Voldemort. _ The brush of a razor sharp talon over the smooth face of the stone was all it took to agitate the Horcrux into revealing itself and trying to attack him.  _ The more I learn about you the more disappointed with the results of your ambition I become. _ Tom seized the twisting smoke in a merciless grip and wrenched it free of its moorings. _ Neither one of us considered the destructive consequences of possessing less than half of a soul at any given time. Now, I can see that we should have; all the more the pity for you. _ Though larger than the one in the Diadem, the soul piece in the ring was half the size of the soul piece in the locket, and much easier to choke down. It tasted like smoke and iron and left a film of ash across his tongue.  _ And there is one less place for you to hide. _

His business there finished, Tom took a last long look around at the dwelling which had once been home to the last descendants of the great Salazar Slytherin before leaving. Acting more on a whim than anything minorly approaching reason and shifting into the form of a raven, he flitted across the declining town and touched down again amid the back gardens. Weaving between the hedgerows and beds of flowers which, oddly, appeared to be tended he made his way up to the door and pushed it open. Stepping inside. 

The decadence of the place was sickening. Plush carpets. A wide set grand staircase with carved bannisters. Faded tapestries which looked to have been taken from a medieval King’s castle and motionless Muggle portraits hung on the walls, lifeless and silent. Puffs of dust rose around his feet as he crossed the hall into the dining room.

The Killing Curse had been used, there. He could feel it; Death’s power lingering in the air like static. An imprint of the last moments of three wretched people, left lying right there on the floor. Tom squinted, hard, at the bare boards as if, should he put enough effort into his stare, he could see them there. The shadows of the family that once, long ago, he’d dreamed might come to rescue him.

Who’d never wanted him.

There was a thud and a curse from behind him. Another presence-non magical and very far indeed from a threat-registering on his awareness as his focus redirected. Tom turned his head. A man stood there. Old and bent over a walking stick with a tweed, porkpie hat atop his head. Likely the one responsible for the maintenance of the gardens outside. Had his father had a gardener? It hadn’t been something Tom had considered important to his planning and, as such, was something which he hadn’t bothered to remember.

“Bloody hell, at first I thought you were a ghost. But you ain’t Tom. Least, not that Tom. Those aren’t Riddle eyes.” 

This Muggle was brave, he’d have to give him that. Perhaps removing the charm over his features as soon as he was out of Little Hangleton proper had been a bit of a hasty move. Tom blinked the blue eyes that were the only feature he’d inherited from his mother, resisting the urge to allow them to shift to the ember red that was their natural state just for the sake of seeing how the man might react. “No. These are Gaunt eyes. My mother’s eyes.”

“That was over fifty years ago. His run away marriage where he claimed that he was ‘taken in’ by that woman.” The man said, voice level but expression betraying his wariness. “You don’t look a day older than Riddle was when he first disappeared. You can’t really be his son. Grandson, maybe.”

“Does it matter, either way?” he returned his attention to the place on the floor that he’d been staring at before the gardener had arrived to interrupt him. “He abandoned his child and, in the end, his mistakes came home to roost. In my mind he didn’t suffer near enough. Not with the way that he died and not with what came after.” It would never be ‘enough’ in his mind until he was responsible for overseeing it. 

“The Riddles were never good people, boy. Not a soul in this town was sad to see them gone.” The Muggle was discrete in his retreat from Tom’s way as the brunet crossed towards the door again. Stepping around him into the hall. “If you came for some sort of inheritance, or a welcome home, you’ll be disappointed.”

“I got what I came for.” For the most part. There would be no closure for those old, now near forgotten wounds. Not for him. Not when Voldemort had already been and gone and taken Tom’s chance with him. “You’d do best to forget that I was ever here.” He could have obliviated the man, or simply killed him, but in that moment neither option struck him as truly worth the effort. Without another moment wasted, and just a handful of steps from the top of the stairs, Tom twisted on the spot and disapparated with a resonant crack.

He landed on the glittering marble steps outside of Gringotts and, after extending a respectful gesture to the Goblin guards astride the door, made his way inside. The wizarding bank was respectably busy for the time of day that it was, but not obnoxiously so, and it was with ease that Tom made his way up to the nearest teller.

The Goblin leered down at him from behind his narrow glasses, and then its wrinkled face spread into a terrifying grin which the young Dark Lord returned, his own teeth pointed. “I wish to see Ironfang; I believe that he has taken on the responsibility of managing my accounts.”

“As you wish, Lord Peverell.” Reaching over to touch its stubby fingers to what looked like a silent, silver bell the Goblin motioned him towards the entrance to the hallway which led deeper into the bank. “Ironfang will see you now.”

With a last nod to the teller, he turned in a whirl of his robes and crossed the main floor of the bank towards the indicated hallway. Weaving between those who stood in his way without sparing them a second glance and knocking on the door which bore the proper Goblin’s name. A call to enter reached him a moment later and he turned the knob, stepping inside.

“Longtooth did say that you’d be coming, Mr. Riddle.” Ironfang waved a hand and a chair materialized across from his desk for Tom to sit in; regal and backed in silver. He accepted the seat with a quiet word of thanks as the Goblin looked him over. Dark eyes coming to rest on the third ring now resting on his hand. “You found it, then?”

“Just today, in the very place that I’d expected it to be. My Counterpart can really be quite predictable indeed.” At this rate, if something didn’t change, he wouldn’t find much sport or challenge in the matter at all.

“And what is it that you’ve come to me for today?”

Leave it to a Goblin to always keep the conversation moving forward when it wasn’t to do with coins or treasure. “I’ve a favor to ask of the Court.”

“You certainly don’t waste time, Mr. Riddle. It was only recently that you restored your standing enough to be able to do such a thing.”

“Under normal circumstances I would hold mine. After all, favors aren’t granted in great number by the Fae and each of us Friends only have so many to our name. But this is something that simply cannot wait, and pertains to my work in Death’s name.” Tom said. “Would I be correct in assuming that the Cup of Helga Hufflepuff is contained within one of the vaults here?”

Ironfang’s thin lips twitched before he waved his hand again and plucked a scroll from the air. Unrolling it and looking it over. “It is present, yes. Kept in the Lestrange family vault, deposited by one Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black.”

“I would like the cup to be turned over to my possession.”

“Gringotts can hardly be seen to have turned over the contents of a vault to a Wizard who did not put them there, Mr. Riddle. To whom they do not belong.”

“I would argue that it does belong to me, as it contains a piece of my Counterpart’s soul.”

“And Gringotts would argue that you are not Lord Voldemort, a claim supported by your own stance, and that you then have no claim to it. Never mind the fact that the Goblin nation has a greater claim to the artifact than any witch or wizard, as with all Goblin artifacts.”

“And I would argue that my claim to the artifact supersedes that of the Goblin nation. Valid though your claim might be over the witches and wizards who seek to use what your people have crafted, the gold that it was made from belonged before all else to Death.”

“And Death claims many of us who mine for his treasures as payment for what we take. But, very well. You have put forward a claim greater than that held by Bellatrix, who placed it within the vault to begin with. We shall turn it over to you and relinquish it fully to your hands, so long as it is with the understanding that you will not seek to retake anything else in your Master’s name.”

“Include the Diadem, Sword and Locket within that and you’ll have my word that all others of the Goblin nation’s works I might acquire shall be of temporary use. To be returned, or reissued, after the span of length of a normal wizard’s lifespan.” Tom said. “Agreeable?”

“So mote it be.” The magic washed over him. Binding, and briefly uncomfortable, but passing quickly. “Now we move on to our other problem, Mr. Riddle. We can turn the cup over to you, as it is yours, but we cannot simply allow you to walk into the Lestrange vault without permission. You will need access to be granted to you by one of the Vault’s owners; a vial of blood will be sufficient for us to key you in.”

“Thank you, Ironfang.” Tom said, rising from his seat. “I’ll excuse myself briefly for a trip to Azkaban. I should be back within the hour with what you’ve asked for; we can finish our business then.”

“Very good, Mr. Riddle. I’ll expect your return then.” The Goblin said. “And remember, Deathborne. _Only_ the cup. Nothing else.”  
“You have my word, vicious friend. Only the cup.” Tom made his way quickly back through the bank and out onto the stairs. Apparating away the instant that the early evening light hit his face.

Sea spray soaked him nearly through the instant that he appeared on the receiving dock of the isolated little island in the middle of the sea. Jagged black stone, slick and sharp, arching up and away from him along the hump of the island before jutting starkly skyward in the form of the prison itself. Azkaban. The most dreaded prison in the magical world, even more so than Nurmengarde with its lone prisoner and his dregs of wilted glory, not in the least because of its terrible guardians. There weren’t as many there, then, as half of the Dementors in the Ministry’s employ had been dispatched to Hogwarts in the effort to hunt down Black but Tom could still keenly feel their presence crawling up and down his spine. Agitating his hackles. Falsehoods. Perversions. He resisted the urge to snarl and looked up towards the approaching Auror; a woman with spiky pink hair and a heart shaped, pale face who promptly slipped on the salt soaked boards and would have fallen into the freezing water had he not grabbed her by the shoulders.

“Ah, thanks for that. Dead clumsy as I am, they don’t usually put me on duty in this place but with the break out they have every Auror on the force taking a turn.” She stepped back from him, slightly, once Tom had successfully propped her back on her feet. “Wotcher. Auror Tonks. We don’t usually get visitors to Azkaban, and when we do it’s usually something arranged in advance. I’m going to have to ask you to identify yourself before you go any further.”

“Keres Alexos. Though I may be better known as Lord Gaunt-Peverell.” As expected, a flash of recognition came across her face. He had to suppress the urge to smirk. “It seems that you’ve heard of me?”

“I think everyone in Britain has heard of you by this point. What you did to shoot down that awful woman’s bill spread like fiend fyre through the Ministry. Umbridge wasn’t happy about it, and anything that makes her miserable is reason to celebrate in my books.” She said. “Not to mention that Werewolves and other Creatures get a bad enough rap as it is. Dark aligned or not, you seem ok enough. Er...I should be asking what you’re doing here though.”

This Auror was young. Looked barely out of training. Luck served him, it seemed, as he’d have an easier time convincing her to stay at distance, or even to not follow him at all, than he would anyone more senior. “I’m here to see Bellatrix Lestrange.” Immediately, the woman went very stiff. “As a friend of the Goblin nation I was able to call in a favor to have a family artifact turned over to me, unfortunately my...cousin saw fit before he got himself vaporized by a one year old to have it locked in the Lestrange family vault. I require her blood as proof of permission to enter, and it must be willingly given, so I find myself forced to speak with her.”

Tonks had relaxed, though wariness remained in the set of her features. “You’ve certainly gotten yourself into a mess, then. That woman was mad as a red cap  _ before  _ they put her in here. Guess all I can really do is wish you luck and take you to her cell.” She said. “Can you cast a Patronus?”

Tom cast the Charm in answer, no longer able to keep the smirk off his face when the Auror’s eyes went wide in surprise. His Horntail-he still wasn’t used to thinking of his guardian in terms other than a Basilisk, though maybe its change in form was for the best as the King of Serpents was perhaps too revealing of his actual identity-whipped the sea around them into a froth with the heavy beating of its wings, its long thorny tail swinging lazily behind it with the motion. He flicked his wand, and the Patronus dutifully swooped off to land with the crackle of stone against the nearby shore. “Shall we?”

His unwanted companion blinked, seeming to mentally shake herself, and quickly fell in behind him as he started walking. “I’m not sure that’s going to fit inside.”

It took little more than a passing thought to regulate the amount of magic he was feeding into the charm. The dragon shrinking down to about the size of a lion, but growing no dimmer. “I think he’ll fit just fine.” Tom slowed his pace enough to allow the Auror to catch up with him, then indicated the gaping doorway flanked on either side by the floating figures of Dementors. “Lead on.”

Azkaban was truly a bleak and terrible place, the icy air laden with the stench of sea and suffering. Had it not been for the presence of the Dementors, kept well at bay from the two of them by the pulsing silver halo shed by the Dragon at his side, he might have found it reminiscent of the Fields of Punishment and considerably more welcoming to the darkest portions of his nature than anywhere else in England. Alas, the infestation prevented such a thing and by consequence Tom just wanted away from there as soon as circumstances would allow.

It wasn’t until they reached a floor near the very top of the dread prison when Tonks stopped at the end of a long, narrow hallway lined with rusted looking cell doors. “The one you’re looking for is at the far end, by the window.” She said. “I’ll be here, within shouting distance, if she tries anything. But it’s probably best that she not see me with you. Doesn’t like me much, considering I’m a half-blood and all.”

“If that’s the case I doubt she’d like me all that much either.” Flashing his most charming smile, he asked “should I leave my Patronus with you while you wait?”

“No need. I’ll cast my own; have to be able to in order to be an Auror. Probably because of shifts here.” She said. “Hopefully you can get her to cooperate. Would be bloody awful to come all the way out to this place for nothing.”

“I’m sure I won’t have troubled myself without reward. I’m told that I can be...very persuasive when the need arises.” Motioning the dragon alongside him, Tom swept through the hallway towards the proper cell. Ignoring the faces of the prisoners, drawn and pale and crazed, which pressed against the bars of their cages to get a better look at him. Reaching through the bars to try and touch the Charm’s light. To find relief. On reflex, not needing the defense nearly as much, he switched to a weaker memory. The glow dimmed near to nothing, the dragon almost flickering out, and a savage smile pulled on his lips as cries of despair and panic went up from the handful that had tried to touch.  _ Serves them right, to see refuge from something like me.  _ Foolishness of the highest order, for which he hadn’t the slightest sympathy.

The cell at the end of the hall was small and dirty, sporting only a narrow cot and a chamberpot as furnishings. The woman who sat hunched atop it dressed in dirty, black and white prison robes; more than likely, she’d been wearing the same set for years. Perhaps for as long as she’d been there.

His patience was running thin. He had no time for games or for the potential for being dismissed, sneered at or ignored. So he went straight for identifying himself in a way which would ensure he was given what he asked for, provided she still retained enough sanity to recognize her Lord when she thought he stood in front of her. Glancing over at Tonks to ensure she wasn’t looking and finding her still standing at the far end of the hall, a glowing silver rabbit at her feet, Tom shifted the color of his eyes and hissed “ **_:Do not ignore me, Bella.:”_ **

The witch’s head snapped up so quickly that he was left surprised she hadn’t broken her neck. Dark, hooded eyes set deep into a drawn and skull-like face staring at him for a long moment of motionless silence before she rose, the cot creaking beneath the shift of her weight, and began to slowly approach the bars. “My Lord?”

“I see that I’ve successfully claimed your attention.” He drawled. The Patronus at his feet hissed as he allowed it to brighten again, shedding brilliant silver spokes across the grim interior of the prison’s weeping walls. “Surely you did not believe that a mere child would be able to truly vanquish  _ me _ . I’d have thought you had more faith than that, Bellatrix. In me. In your Lord and Master.”

“Faith?” She lunged for the bars. Pressing herself against them. Eyes wild. Reaching towards him with desperate searching fingers and long dirty nails. “My Lord, we had more faith than all the others! We alone searched for you after what happened in Godric’s Hollow! We alone remained loyal, even if it meant being sent here! We alone had faith that you would return!”

“You were right, Bella.” Tom said, tone soothing, though he kept well out of reach of her. “And Lord Voldemort always rewards those who are loyal to him. And your reward is soon to come. But first, I require one last task of you.”

“Anything, my Lord! You only need to ask.”

“Your blood.” He drew his wand. Watched her stare at it, reverently, as he conjured a small crystal vial from the air. “I require your blood so that I may retrieve my cup from Gringotts. My grasp upon this body is a tenuous one, and I require the magics that I stashed away inside it to stabilize my connection. Will you grant me your blood, Bella? It must be willingly given.”

Her nod was sudden. Jerky. As if it couldn’t be given quickly enough. Tom held down the urge to grimace and took her wrist. Pressing the tip of his bone white wand to the blue veins that he found there and opening a thin cut. Allowing the blood to flow into the vial until it was full and then sealing it shut.

“You’ll be rewarded soon, Bella. You and all those who stood beside me even after my fall; my most loyal.” Capping the vial, he slipped it into the inner pocket of his robes. “Endure a while longer. Our time will come.”

“Of course, my Lord! We will wait for you to come for us. Always!”

_ I wouldn’t be surprised to find he’s near as mad as she is, with all of the Horcruxes that he’s made _ . Turning his back on the cell, blocking out the continued ravings of the caged Death Eater behind him, he returned to where Tonks was waiting in the wall.

“You look pleased.”

“I’m a man well versed in getting what he comes for.” He said. “Thank you for your assistance. I’ll be certain to put in a good word for you when I next find myself in contact with the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Shall I show myself out?”

“No need. I have to head back down to the guard station anyway; I’ll walk with you.” She wasn’t terrible company, he supposed, when she wasn’t tripping over the raised cobbles on the floor or the slightly off center stair or her own feet or the air. By the time they made it to the bottom of the prison tower Tom had given up on the concept of her being able to walk on her own and just maintained a firm grip on the woman’s arm. Releasing her only once they’d made it safely to the rickety shack which passed as a guard station on the tiny little cluster of rocks stuck smack dab in the middle of the sea. “Thanks. Really. Getting down all of those stairs without falling really would have been a struggle.”

“Just see to it that you’re more careful in the future. Between the man’s natural inclination towards being a bumbling idiot and the mad goose chase with Black the very last thing Fudge needs is one of the Auror’s stationed here braining themselves in a tumble down the bloody stairs.” He said. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, my account manager at Gringotts is expecting my return.”

Leaving Tonks to duck back into the little building, he left the island and the hulking prison at its peak behind and apparated back to Diagon Alley. Pausing on the stairs of the bank only long enough to dry his robes before re-entering the bank and, upon being waved along by the tellers, returning to Ironfang’s office. The Goblin showed off all his pointed, yellow teeth when Tom set the little vial of blood in front of him.

“Very well, Mr. Riddle. Let’s go and collect your cup.” 

Ironfang led him out of the office and down to the tracks which led away into the complex of caverns that contained the hundreds of vaults where the oldest families of Magical Britain kept their vast and numerous fortunes. Fortunes he’d been jealous of, once, when he’d been nothing more than a Muggle raised orphan with a cockney accent and a chip on his shoulder. Before he’d created for himself the guise of Voldemort and demanded tributes from his followers. Before Death had come to him and he’d shed that persona, too, like a snake would its skin and all the riches in the world had been placed at his fingertips.

No sooner had he sat down behind ironfang than did the mine cart go rocketing off into the darkness. The track it took a winding and wild one which came, at last, to a stop outside of the proper vault. The door accepting the little vial in place of a key and melting away before him, the Goblin’s sharp gaze on his back as he stepped inside. As with all of the oldest vaults, the one belonging to the Lestrange family had been crafted from one of the natural hollows of the caverns and was crammed from floor to ceiling with treasure in various forms. Golden coins and goblets. Silver armor and rings. Loose sapphires and diamonds the size of a baby’s fist. The skins of magical creatures that Tom found he couldn’t easily identify at a glance, some with spines like rose thorns and others still sporting multiple pairs of drooping leathery wings. Jeweled flasks full of potions ranging from Liquid Luck to the Draught of Living Death to what appeared suspiciously similar to Basilisk venom crowded a shelf which sat against the far well, topped with a human skull still wearing a heavy crown; fallen low about the empty sockets of its eyes.

The Horcrux he’d come for had been left at the top of a massive pile of coins and gemstones. Having been expressly warned to touch nothing else and well aware of the Goblin penchant to ward treasure against any would be thieves with such nasty curses as Flagrante and Gemino, he didn’t try to climb. Drawing his wand instead and flicking his wrist in a lashing motion. “Verbero.” Molten bronze spooled from the tip, hissing in the cold damp air, until the full two meters of the whip had coiled about his feet. He flicked his wrist again, the length of it more than enough to reach the top of the mound and wrap around the cup, and reeled it back with a flourish. Banishing the weapon again once the Horcrux was safely in hand.

_ The protections around it kept the heat from warping the metal at all. _ Almost absently, Tom ran his thumb along the curve of the badger’s muzzle. “I do believe we’re done here, Ironfang. The Goblin nation has my thanks.”

“Of course, Mr. Riddle. If there’s anything else the Goblin nation can do for you, for the right price, you only have to ask.” The Goblin said. “Shall we return to the surface?”

“I think that’s for the best.” The sooner he returned to Slytherin manor the sooner he’d have one less Horcrux to deal with and one step closer to eliminating his counterpart’s unwanted competition. 


	25. The Yule Ball

Harry and Hermione had spent the last week leading up to Christmas break pouring over a handful of sets of owl order magazines selecting gifts for their various friends, acquaintances and family members in Gryffindor common room, or discussing what little they could of what had been dubbed the ‘Scabbers situation’ with Draco while making a simultaneous effort-largely driven by the bushy haired witch-to finish up the last of their homework and get a head start on the work they would be expected to complete during the break. Their trip back to London on the Hogwarts Express had been a peaceful one, comparatively to their way in, and much to Harry’s relief came with a noticeable absence of dementors. Draco left them before they got off the train so as to avoid any tension between his parents and the Weasley family, bidding them both a good break and informing Harry-rather unnecessarily in the little raven’s opinion-that both he and Tom were expected to appear at their Yule ball. Hermione accompanied him over to where the Weasleys were staying, greeted Ron politely but somewhat stiffly and then went to join her parents for a ski trip which would take her out of Britain until term started up again. Fred and George had done a marvelous job of keeping the situation from being too awkward, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were still just as welcoming to him as they always were, but Harry couldn’t exactly call the two days he spent at the Burrow before Yule finally rolled around comfortable given that he and Ron were occupying the same room.

It was a relief indeed when the eve of Yule finally came and Harry found himself dressed in the dark green dress robe Draco and Hermione had helped him to select, waiting in the snow on the stoop watching for Tom to arrive. His breath rising in silver clouds towards the cold winter sky.

Behind him, the door creaked open and Mrs. Weasley stuck her head out. “Harry, dear, come back inside. It’s freezing out here! And it’s not as if Keres isn’t going to be able to find you if you’re not out to wave a flag at him.”

In the near distance, vague against the ashen seam of the horizon, the form of a raven could be seen descending from the heavy pall of clouds. Black wings stark against the snow flecking from the sky. “It’s alright, Mrs. Weasley.” He said. “That’s him now.”

The bird’s sable wings flared outwards. Its little body swinging forward as it dropped momentum. Shifting and growing in size until Tom landed in the snow near enough that Harry could have stretched out an arm and touched him, the black robes he favored billowing gracefully around his form. Dark blue eyes sparkling like a night sky filled with stars. “Hello, Little One.”

“Keres!” Harry stepped forward and pressed his face into the front of Tom’s robes. The warmth of his body burning his cold bitten cheeks. 

“Well, come in! Come in! Both of you! It’s absolutely frigid out here!” Mrs. Weasley shuffled aside and motioned them through. Tom pushing Harry ahead of him into the warmth of the Burrow and then knocking snow off of his dragon hide boots.

“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley.” Tom said. “I promise I won’t overstress your hospitality; we are expected not too long from now, after all, and it would be poor form indeed to be late to an event as politically impactful as this one.” Turning his full attention to Harry, still in the midst of an effort to defrost his cheeks in the front of his soulbound’s robe, he tutted “we’re really going to have to do something about your hair. Looking like you’ve just gotten off a broom for an event of this caliber is rather untoward, my dear.”

“Good luck.” The little raven grumbled. “Brushing it doesn’t work. Products don’t work. Aunt Petunia tried to cut it all off once and it grew back worse over night.” She’d only left him with his fringe in an effort to cover up his ‘freakish’ scar and the result had ultimately looked more ridiculous than its natural state had.

“Well, if cutting it doesn’t work growing it out might.” Not bothering to draw his wand from where he had it tucked away in his cane, Tom lightly tapped him on the top of his head. His scalp prickled and felt hot for a moment and the young Dark Lord nodded to himself, looking satisfied. “There we are; a bit more weight to it and it cooperates.” This time he did draw his wand, conjuring a satin tie in the same deep green as the robe that he wore and gently pulling his magically lengthened hair back into a neat tail at the nape of his neck. “That will wear off before the morning.” Tom said, watching Harry struggle to make out his reflection in the darkened window beside them. “If you decide that you prefer your hair that way, we can see about taking measures to grow it out properly.”

It wasn’t as long as Hermione’s hair, just long enough for him to pull the tail around to rest over his shoulder if he ever found himself struck by the desire to do so. Harry wasn’t certain how he felt about the result.

“It’s very...Pureblood.”

“Well suited for tonight's venue then, I think.” Tom said. “Go and get your cane, and stow your wand in it. And exchange the Potter Heir ring for either Peverell or Slytherin. I have something for you; technically it’s your Christmas gift but I want you to wear it tonight as well.”

Harry nodded and quickly made his way out of the kitchen, back up to the room where he’d been staying with Ron. He didn’t spare the red head a glance as he collected the ring box from his trunk and placed the Potter Heir ring inside. He closed it, envisioned the Peverell Heir ring, opened it again and slipped it onto his finger. Slipping his wand into the dragon headed cane and returning down the stairs.

“I sent Hedwig along with your gift the other day.” Harry said. “Did you get it?”

“I haven’t opened it yet, but yes. I did get it. Thank you, Little One.” 

“Hermione’s the one that had the catalogues but Draco ‘helped’ by making me read the book on Wizarding Gifting Customs. I guess I’m glad he did because I hadn’t realized certain gifts meant certain things and wouldn’t have wanted to accidentally insult you.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to know better.” Tom drew a long, thin rectangular box from within his robes and held it out to him. The first thing which popped into Harry’s head at the sight of it was a wand box, but it was far too heavy to contain a wand. “Open it. Put it on. I’ve been wanting to see you wear it since I managed to...recover it.  **_:It’s been cleansed.:_ ** ”

_ Cleansed? _ Harry’s eyebrows drew together, but he pulled the lid off the box nonetheless and looked inside. Resting against the black satin interior was a locket with a faceted face of glittering glass, protecting a serpentine S inset with viridian stones. “Is this Slytherin’s locket?”

“It is indeed. Made by my great ancestor for his dearly beloved wife. I think it's only right that it goes, now, to you.” Tom reached over his shoulder. Long, gloved fingers lightly lifting the locket from where it lay and unclasping the chain. The delicate links sliding like water over the sensitive skin on the sides of his neck. “They suit your eyes. The emeralds. Shall we be off?”

Harry frowned and sent a narrowed eyed glare at the nearby hearth, currently occupied by a pot in which Mrs. Weasley was cooking a savory smelling stew. “Are we flooing?”

“No, Harrison.” Tom soothed. Gently pulling him close to his side again. “We’ll be apparating.” When the little raven made a disgruntled noise of displeasure, he laughed. “Now, now, I know. But we don’t really have a choice if we want to get there in short order. And then, after we’ve spent enough time at Lucius’ little ball to be politically correct, we’ll return to Slytherin Manor for the Yule rite. I’ll have him back just after midnight, Mrs. Weasley.”

“Please, dear, call me Molly!” Mrs. Weasley called after them as the door swung shut with a creak and a thump. Harry was barely given the chance to feel the cold unfurl itself across his skin before he was pulled along with the older wizard as he apparated away. Arriving a moment later in the receiving room of Malfoy manor. “We’re a few minutes early, Harry, so let’s discuss for a moment the matter of the rat. Have you made any efforts since arriving at the Burrow to repair your friendship with Ron Weasley?”

“No.” Harry said, giving him a rather disgruntled looking side eye. “Not that he’s been making the effort either. Why should I?”

“Because his cooperation would make it easiest for you to be able to get your hands on Pettigrew, of course. It’s far easier to get what you want out of people who bear good feelings for you than it is to get it out of those who don’t.”

The little raven huffed, frowning. “I’ll try to at least get him to talk to me again. Only because Sirius deserves to be able to walk free without having to constantly hide in dog form.” Honestly, Harry missed the relationship he’d had with Ron. Hermione was still just the way she always had been, and Draco wasn’t bad in his own right, but neither one of them compared to the red headed fellow Gryffindor who’d been his best mate and who was still his first friend. But between Harry’s pride and Ron being ridiculous about his ‘sudden inclination to associate with Slytherins’ made doing so seem impossible.

Tom, satisfied, patted him on the head in a way which would have seemed condescending from anyone else and set off deeper into the manor. With no other choice but to follow if he didn’t want to be left behind, Harry hurried to catch up.

He quickly realized that he hated, absolutely  _ hated _ , political events. He only got to see the Malfoys a handful of times throughout the night, and Draco only during one of those times, and spent the rest of the three hours they were there orbiting Tom so that the older wizard could fend off anyone who got too aggressive over wanting to see or speak to or touch the Boy-Who-Lived. Most of the people who came up to them were Lords and Ladies of Dark or Grey-Dark Aligned families, a few with names that he recognized-Blaise’s mother, Pansy’s father, and Theodore’s father who attempted start some sort of verbal spar which must have been a unique feature of Snake House and which he soundly lost-but the highlight of his night was either the brief conversation he was able to have with a very out of place looking Neville while his grandmother praised the way in which Tom had handled himself in his first Wizengamot meeting or getting to watch Tom trap Fudge in the far corner of the room and proceed to maul him with his eyes as they had an uncomfortably polite conversation about the baking capabilities of Narcissa’s elves.

When Harry at last found himself spirited back to Slytherin Manor it couldn’t-in his opinion-have come soon enough.

“How are things going?” Harry asked as Tom led him into a small room on the first floor that he hadn’t seen before: paved in reflective black tile on the floor, ceiling and all four walls, standing in it was like floating in a dark void. There was a set of three candles-one in white, one in black and one in red-balanced in carved bone holders on the floor, arranged in a circle around a beaten gold bowl of wine. White petals floating on its surface. “With the Horcruxes.”

“Very well. I’m pleased with my progress.” Tom said as he carefully lit each candle with the tip of his wand. “I’ve successfully gotten to the locket, which you’re now wearing, the ring,” the older wizard flashed the ring that hadn’t been there the last time Harry had looked at his hand, “the Diadem, which I picked up from the Room of Requirement on the day of your disastrous Quidditch match and the cup which I collected on the same day as the ring.”

“And how many more does that leave?”

“Two.” He said. “The Sword of Gryffindor and...I’m not certain of the last.”

“I don’t know if you’re certain about the sword either.” Harry tried to keep too much urgency from invading his voice. “Tom, if the Sword was a Horcrux wouldn’t it have been destroyed when I shoved it into the Basilisk’s mouth?”

Tom went very still for a moment, his pupils sharpening to slits in the candle light, then he cursed softly under his breath and looked up at him. “Then I’ll need to re-evaluate matters. Attempt to determine what else he might have made into a Horcrux. Or consider the fact that I was off about the number and that there were less than I expected.” He said. “But that isn’t something to concern ourselves with now. There is something more important for us to be doing.”

Reluctantly, Harry allowed the subject to drop for the time being.

“Yule is the sacred day of Death.  _ Our _ most important day. It’s the day during which the veil between our realm and the underworld is thinnest and as such, most who still honor the old ways use this day to reach out to their dead.” Tom’s voice was a low rumble in the dark, quiet room. “Nothing close to Necromancy in even its most primitive form, the ritual only produces flashes: thoughts, feelings. We’re going to be doing something considerably different and much more...complex.”

“Complex?”

“I didn’t say that the locket was your only present, Little One.” Shadowy wings spread from his back, so dark they looked like an extension of the robes he wore, and he stepped forward. “Take a feather.”

Take a feather? “But...won’t that hurt?”

“A mild discomfort isn’t of much concern to me, Harry.” His right wing curled forward. Encircling him. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen them, though he hadn’t seen them often, but it was the first time he’d gotten such a close look and he hadn’t realized before just how large they were. “Go on.” The contour feathers were each as long as his upper arm, sleek and sooty black though with a blue tinge whenever the light from the candle hit them. They were warm and smooth, and the downy feathers beneath were soft. Paler in color. Closer to grey. Not giving himself the chance to hesitate, Harry gripped the feather and tugged. Tom hissed as it came free. “Sorry.” He smoothed his fingers over where the feather had been pulled from. Tom folded his wings at his sides but didn’t hide them away again. They curled about his shoulders like a mantle.

“It’s alright.” The young Dark Lord reassured him. “Come. Hand me that feather.” 

Harry did as he was told, handing the large feather over to him, and followed the brunet back to the candles. 

“Katavasi.” He held one end over the first candle until it caught alight. “Synklino.” This time he held the middle of the feather over the second candle. “Anavaino.” He lit the other end of the feather with the last remaining candle. Holding it by what few parts weren’t burning and then, suddenly, crushing the feather in his fist. The ashes falling down into the goblet of wine, which Tom lifted with his other hand and offered to him. “Drink.” Gently, taking him by the wrist, Tom pulled him down with him until he was sitting on the floor. “And then lay back.” 

Harry hesitated. Eyed the mixture of wine, feather ash and floating petals. Then steeled himself and took a drink. The pungent, sweet bite of it overwhelming his tongue and nose and the alcohol burning down his throat. Immediately, his vision began to shift out of focus. The edges of Tom’s outline, already softened by the faint light of the candles, blurring. Unable to continue sitting up, the little raven sagged forward into the other wizard’s arms. The young Dark Lord caught him, gently lying Harry down in his lap and curling over him. Wings a protective drape of black feathers which blocked out the light. 

“You trust me?”

For absolutely anyone else that would have been a very dangerous question. For him, it had a simple answer. “Yes.”

“Then close your eyes.” Tom pressed their foreheads together. His dark curls brushing Harry’s skin; soft, like the downy feathers of his wings. “And fall. I’ll take you where you need to go.”

With how difficult it had become to stay awake it didn’t take much thought for Harry to comply. The sensation which flooded over him felt at once like falling off his broom and flying on Buckbeak had. The darkness around him more like that of a cave or tunnel than falling asleep. And then, as soon as it had started, all motion stopped and Harry opened his eyes. It was light, wherever he was, but it wasn’t outside; far overhead, dripping with sharp juts of stalactites, was a ceiling of jet black stone. All around him, growing tall enough to reach his knees when he was standing, was a field of emerald grass and wildflowers. As Harry sat up, Tom landed beside him with the flutter of his feathered wings.

Horns curved up and back from his head, flashing brilliantly in the false sunlight and looking at once delicately decorative and capable of a painful goring. His glowing fiery eyes, sharp teeth and taloned fingers did nothing to make him appear any less beautiful. Where his wand would be holstered on his wrist, a whip was now coiled into a red-hot bangle of semi-liquid bronze.

“Welcome to Elysium.” Careful of his claws, the older wizard reached down to pull him up onto his feet. “We can’t stay long; you because you’re not dead and me because, well, my job at the moment is up there so this would be considered counterproductive to say the least.” There wasn’t much in the way of landmarks in the area, though he did see a handful of stone structures-glittering white, like marble-some lakes and various stands of trees. One of these was where he was led to, Tom stopping just outside of a hanging curtain of vines. “I’ll come to get you, when it’s time to return. For now, it’s best they don’t see me. The dead tend to be nervous, in the presence of my kind.”

Drawing upon his Gryffindor courage, Harry nodded and, when Tom drew the curtain of greenery back, proceeded through the trees alone. Coming upon a clearing soon after and freezing where he stood. Standing there, beside a narrow silver creek, were two figures. A man with wild black hair and wire rimmed glasses and a woman with green eyes a perfect mirror to his own. A perfect replica of what he’d seen in the Mirror of Erised. He must have made a sound, some sort of noise of surprise, because both turned. Their eyes went wide.

Harry broke the hush which had fallen over the clearing, aside from the soft chortle of the creek, and said “M-Mum? Dad?”

“Harry?” James looked at once bewildered and horrified. “What are-? No! You shouldn’t-. He didn’t-.”

“Oh, baby, what are you doing here?” Lily closed the distance between them in an instant, wrapping him in her arms. She was cold. And, unlike Tom, had no smell. “Thank Merlin, James! He’s warm! He’s still-how are you here?”

“Tom brought me here. For Yule. To see you.” Harry didn’t know if he wanted to smile, cry or scream. His parents! Tom had brought him down there to see his parents! Finally, he’d get to see them for real, instead of behind a pane of enchanted glass or through the photographs contained in the scrapbook Hagrid had given him. Finally, he’d get to speak with them. But that also meant he’d finally truly understand what he was missing. It was both a blessing and a curse. “He said it was a gift. Like the locket.”

“Tom?” Both of his parents exchanged glances of confusion. It was obvious that neither one of them recognized the name.

“Tom.” Harry repeated. “Tom Riddle.” When the surname did nothing to remedy the situation, he said “Keres.” That name provoked much more of a reaction, as his father’s face immediately chilled. If only for a moment before it softened again. 

“Well, whatever he’s done to get you here probably won’t last forever.” James said, joining Lily at his side and clasping his shoulder. “We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Time was impossible to properly judge in a place where the sunlight never moved, and all too soon the sound of footsteps approaching through the trees reached his ears. Both his parents stiffened, their gazes on Tom the moment he stepped into view. Reaching up to gently run the smooth, curved back of one talon down along his cheek. 

“I don’t want to go yet.” His parents. They were real and solid and right there. He was with them. He’d been hugged by them. Had spoken to them. It was like they were alive, even though he knew that they weren’t. And the thought of leaving now felt like losing them all over again.

“I know. But I’ve already drawn this out too long, Little One.” There was something in his glowing, inhuman eyes which verged dangerously close to regret. “I wish I could give them back to you in a more permanent capacity, but this is the best that I could do. Perhaps I shouldn’t have. It seems to have only made old wounds draw blood again.”

“No, I...thank you, Tom. This is more than I’d ever imagined, I just…” wish things had been different? How many others had said that before him? How many others would say it after? Harry sighed. His mother hugged him. His father squeezed his shoulder. He stepped forward into Tom’s arms and his big black wings draped around them once more.

“Close your eyes.” His voice was the only thing that Harry could hear in that artificial void. He could feel the flowers brushing against his legs and over the palms of his hands but the darkness was too complete for him to see. He did as he was told. Tom’s forehead pressed against his. “I’ll take you back.”

Harry was overcome with the sensation of rocketing upwards. Faster than his firebolt. Faster than Buckbeak had flown. Faster, he felt certain, then light or sound or any spell he’d ever seen fired and then, all at once, the motion stopped. His eyes snapping open with the abruptness of it all. Tom’s pale face, dark curls and the ceiling overhead were the sights that met him. The older wizard brushed his dry lips softly over the scar on his forehead as he sat back. When Harry reached up to touch his face, his cheeks were wet. “How long?” Tom made a chirping sound in his throat as he sat back, muffled and slightly dazed, reminding Harry of the noises Errol would sometimes make when he tried to coax the old owl into drinking from Hedwig’s water bowl after it had collapsed in exhaustion from a long flight. “Tom?”

“A few minutes. Maybe an hour.” It was almost impossible to tell, with how utterly dark it was in that room, but the brunet seemed unable to keep his gaze focused. “Time travels differently there. We’ll have to check a clock to know for sure.” 

He pulled his wand from the top of the cane and attempted to cast a Tempus, but nothing happened. Then, he tried to get up and crumpled almost instantly. “ _ Tom?! _ ” Harry caught the older wizard against his side. Surprised by the weight of the man.

The brunet huffed, sounding at once drained and incredibly annoyed. “It would seem that I’ve...overextended. Even on Yule, when the barriers are at their weakest, taking you with me might have been a little bit too much.”

“Can you stand?” Harry struggled up onto his knees, and then his feet and dragged them both upright with minimal help from Tom. “I’ll get you to bed and then send Munnin to the Burrow to let Mrs. Weasley know I won’t be back until the morning.”

“You don’t need to worry over me, Harrison. I can’t die. I’ve told you this.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m not going to consider you not being able to get up on your own to be anything close to ok, Tom.” Harry heaved the older man onto the nearest piece of furniture. “Never mind the fact that you couldn’t cast a spell! I’m going to go and write that letter and then I’m calling Kipsy for hot chocolate.”

“Harry.” He complained, struggling to make the word sound as exasperated as he clearly wanted it to but failing miserably. “This isn’t necessary.”

“Don’t care.”

“I’ll be fine by morning.”

“And, in the morning, if that is true, I’ll leave you alone. If it isn’t, I’ll floo back to the Burrow and get my things and stay the rest of the break here. After all, you told me that you were almost finished with hunting down the rest of the Horcruxes and didn’t have any more leads at the moment, so you don’t have anywhere else to go rushing after quite yet.” As he headed out of the room, it was starkly obvious that the little Gryffindor would in no way be deterred no matter how he tried to argue. “Rest!”

Tom’s head fell back against the couch he’d been left on with a thud that echoed off the walls.


	26. The Shrieking Shack

Harry honestly didn’t know what he’d expected to come from attempting to bridge the gap that had opened between him and Ron. After flooing back to the Burrow in order to collect his things the little raven had spent the remainder of the holiday break at Slytherin Manor assisting the House Elves in forcing Tom to stay in bed-or at least mostly in bed-while his magic levels recovered from the incredible strain that the ritual he’d performed on Yule had caused-a period of time that he thought he’d enjoyed a considerable deal more than the brunet had, given that he wasn’t permitted to walk more than a handful of feet for the entire duration of it-and had left for the station only after receiving a promise from Kipsy that they would oversee the remainder of Tom’s recovery through even if it meant forcing their master to spend a short period trussed to the headboard. On the platform, after finding the Weasleys and assuring them that he was perfectly alright and that Tom was no longer nearly as ill, he’d pulled Ron aside and made an effort to talk to him only to quickly discover that there was no middle ground to be had with him in regards to ‘slimy Snakes’. Having gotten to know Draco quite well at this point, now viewing Snape in a far kinder light considering the fact that his formerly hated Professor had started to treat him like a student instead of a stain on his favorite set of brewing robes, and considering that his soulbound was  _ Slytherin’s Heir _ and thereby the very peak of what it meant to be a ‘slimy snake’ that notion was something Harry found himself taking considerable umbrage to.

No matter how badly he wanted Sirius free as quickly as humanly possible, and no matter how true it was that being on Ron’s good side again would have made it infinitely easier to achieve his goals-getting his hands on Pettigrew-there was no way in Magic that either one of them would be bridging gaps of any sort until the other boy’s close minded attitude-which Harry, admittedly, had once shared-changed.

He’d spent the rest of the trip back to Hogwarts on the express holed up with Hermione, Draco and a rather wary looking Blaise who didn’t contribute much to conversation but never missed a chance to observe their interactions with a calculating glint in his eyes. Given that the Malfoy Heir didn’t display any sort of reaction to the matter, Harry could only assume that such a thing was normal behavior in the Snake Pit. The little raven doubted he’d ever truly understand Slytherins.

“I’m going to release the Boggart again, Harry. Are you ready?” 

Professor Lupin’s voice cut through the haze of his thoughts. The little raven blinked and raised his head, then nodded. Squinting in the early spring sunlight spilling in through the office window behind the older man. “Yes, Sir.” Months, now, had passed since they’d returned to Hogwarts from Yule and in between classes and Quidditch and studying for the end of year exams which were drawing ever nearer Harry, Hermione and Draco had spent countless evenings meeting up in the Room of Requirement crafting and discarding a myriad of plans through which they might be able to not only successfully get a hold of the rat but to get him to Tom and Sirius before he could transform and get away. Finally, that last weeked, they’d slapped something together which all three of them agreed on and had sent out letters to both Sirius and Tom asking them to wait for them in the Shrieking Shack that evening.

Tom had simply replied with an affirmative that he would be there. Sirius, much more helpfully, had drawn them a map of a hidden tunnel which would-somewhat (very) dangerously-take them under the Whomping Willow and deposit them directly in the shack’s interior.

“Focus, Harry.” 

If only he could find the same success in his lessons with Professor Lupin that he’d managed to with the Scabbers situation. Despite multiple lessons having now been put behind him, multiple hours spent repeating the wand movement and saying the spell, he never managed to produce even the faintest curl of smoke. Every memory he’d attempted to use not proving to be strong enough, at least that was his problem according to the older wizard. Sighing as the clasps on the door of the rattling cabinet came free with a great, and by now very familiar, clatter the little raven raised his wand. 

The boggart emerged from the confines of its wooden prison, swooping down upon him in the form of a dementor. All tattered cloth and reaching desiccated talons and nearly overpowering cold. Thus far he hadn’t been able to find a memory that would work-Tom’s sudden appearance at the train station the prior summer too tinged with distrust, his visit with his parents in the underworld stained with bittersweet sadness, none of the others even close to enough-but maybe any source of joy would do? At this point, it was worth a shot.

He closed his eyes and imagined that their plan had succeeded; Peter had been caught, unveiled, and Sirius had been set free. Exonerated. He envisioned himself in a nondescript field somewhere, chasing a yipping grimlike dog through a sea of waist high flowers, laughing. Tom, far too proud and ‘mature’ to join their ‘Gryffindorish antics’, sitting regally beneath the spread bows of an old twisted tree and looking on with dark blue eyes. “Expecto Patronum!” The false dementor faltered in the face of the wisp of silver which puffed from the tip of his wand, but only for a moment before it fell on him again. Lupin stepped in to drive it back and closed the cabinet once more.

“Harry,” his scarred face was lit with pride as he secured the lock and turned to look at him, “you did it.”

Rather dubiously, the little raven looked at where the smoke had dissipated. “I don’t think that would help me much against the Dementors, Sir.” Not that he’d have to worry about them for all that much longer, anyway. Maybe, in the end, it would be Tom teaching him when he finally managed to produce a full patronus.

At this rate, it probably would be.

“I know that it doesn’t seem like much, but already you’ve done something that most adult wizards and witches aren’t able to.” Professor Lupin said. “You should be very proud.” When the younger man’s expression didn’t change, he said “you’ve overcome the hardest part. From here, you should find producing a non corporeal Patronus much easier.”

“And a corporeal one?”

A long pause before Professor Lupin sighed. “Harry, like I told you when we first began our lessons, there are few pieces of Light magic more difficult to cast than the Patronus Charm.” He said. “Let’s take this one piece at a time. Trying to go directly to a corporeal Patronus is only setting yourself up for disappointment. Give yourself time.”

Harry sighed, but didn’t bother to argue the matter further. “Yes, Sir.”

“I think we’ll call things here. You’ve made far more progress than I could ever have reasonably asked of you, and with how close the end of year exams are getting I can’t comfortably justify keeping you for hours anymore.” He said. “For the rest of the year, and even after, for as long as you might happen to feel that you need it, you’re welcome to seek my advice in furthering your ability with this or any other bit of magic. Either by speaking to me outside of class or by writing.” Reaching into the pocket of his robes, he pulled out the familiar bar of chocolate and handed it to him. “A few squares of that before dinner.”

The little raven nodded as he headed for the door. “Thank you, Professor Lupin. Even if I’m never able to fully cast the Charm, I’m grateful for the time that you’ve taken trying to teach me.”

Straightening his school robes where they lay around his shoulders and pulling the wrapper off the chocolate, Harry snapped off a couple of squares to chase away the clinging cold and shoved the rest of the bar into his bag. Setting off through the curving halls of the ancient castle towards the great hall where the student population had begun to filter in for dinner and crossing to the green and silver table. Dropping down into the bench where Hermione was already sitting with Draco and ignoring the disgruntled looks the other snakes sent him.

“How did it go?” Hermione asked him. “With Lupin?”

“Better than what he expected, from what he’s said, but the little puff of mist I managed to make isn’t going to do anything to help me if I’m attacked.” He said. “That was our last lesson; he said that I could ask him if I had any further questions but that I’d have to practice on my own from here.”

“It might not seem impressive, Potter, but I’d bet galleons that most of the Professors sitting up there at the staff table couldn’t even manage that much now. Let alone when they were only 13.” Draco said. “The only ones I know who can do it for certain are Snape, Dumbledore and McGonagall. And Lupin, or else he wouldn’t have been a very good teacher for the Charm.”

“At least I won’t need it much longer, so the pressure for learning it will go away.” Harry picked up the bowl of mashed potatoes and shoveled a sizable helping onto his plate. If only for the sake of having something to do with his hands. “We’ll have the rat tonight and Sirius will be proven innocent. And the Ministry will withdraw the Dementors.”

“That’s no reason not to learn something, Harry.” Hermione said sternly, her voice tinged with something which verged on disappointment.

“Have Keres teach you over the summer.” Draco piped up. “I’m sure there’s a dueling room or something at the manor.”

“He can’t, Draco. The Trace-.”

“Has probably already been removed from his wand; most pureblood or Dark aligned families know how to do it, and actively remove it for their children. My parents are going to do it for me once I’m 15.” 

“Harry, is that true? Your trace has been removed?”

Harry shifted in discomfort where he sat on the bench. “Er...yeah. Keres took it off my wand for my 13th birthday.” 

He coiled down in his seat, preparing for her to chide him for breaking the rules and doing something that was blatantly illegal, only to do a double take when she asked “do you think he could take mine off as well? It’d be brilliant to be able to practice practicals over the summer break as well, instead of just the theory.”

The Malfoy Heir looked at her like she’d sprouted a second head. “Who are you and what have you done with Granger?”

“Oh, quiet you!”

“Probably. He’d have the time, especially if you’re going to be staying over for the summer.” Harry said. “I’ll ask him for you.”

“So I’m going to be the only one still stuck with it? Bloody marvelous.”

“It’s only two more years, Draco.”

“Easy for you to say when you won’t have to wait, Hermione!”

Not in the mood for an argument, the little raven shoved a forkful of potato into his mouth and then asked “we’re still going through with things, aren’t we?”

Both of his friends turned to fix him in a look of disbelief. As if the notion of backing out now was a ridiculously laughable one. “Why wouldn’t we be, Potter? Don’t tell me the lion is getting cold feet.”

“I’m not getting cold feet.” Harry drawled. “I’d just like to know how we’re planning on making sure that Ron will be where we need him to be. And how we can be certain Scabbers will be with him.”

“The bloody cat is how we’ll know he has the rat with him. Weasley always has the rat with him these days, even in class.” Draco said. “You have your cloak, don’t you?”

“In my bag. We went over what we all needed to bring. I don’t have that bad of a memory.”

“I’ve taken care of it.” Hermione said, indicating the familiar form of Collin Creevey who was currently making his way towards where Ron was sitting. “He’s getting the letter from ‘Hagrid’ right now.”

“But that’s not really from the oaf, is it? Ouch!” Draco turned to glare at Harry, who’d punched him in the arm.

“Don’t call Hagrid an oaf. I don’t care if you don’t like him, Draco, but he’s my friend!”

The Malfoy Heir’s grumbled response was drowned out by Hermione saying “No, of course not. It’s from me. But Ron doesn’t know that.” She said. “He’ll be heading down to Hagrid’s hut for tea and stone cakes just before sundown. And we’ll be waiting to ambush him when he does; we’ll take the rat and run for the whomping willow.”

“And Keres and Sirius will take it from there.” The sooner they could get the damned rat into a position where he’d be unable to escape the better it would all sit with Harry’s nerves.

“Yes.” Hermione said, then looked down at his plate. “If all you’re going to take is mashed potatoes, Harry, can you at least eat them instead of pushing them around?”

Draco didn’t wait for him to respond, wrenching the fork from his hand and shoving it at him. Prompting the little raven to narrow his eyes into a mild glare. “I can feed myself, thanks.”

“Prove it.”

The fork was returned after a brief squabble and they spent the rest of dinner in silence, Hermione watching Harry almost robotically eat while Draco continued to send him threatening looks. Apparently poised to attempt to steal the fork again if he stopped before the plate was clear.

Rather than parting ways to their respective common rooms once dinner at last came to an end the trio ducked behind a statue and squeezed beneath the invisibility cloak. Only coming out from underneath it once they were safely behind the large cluster of rocks that Ron would have to pass between if he wanted to take the most direct route to Hagrid's hut.

Peering from behind one of the rocks, cold stone pressed flush against his back, Harry asked “how long do we have?”

Behind the nearest rock he saw Draco tilt his pale head back to peer up at the position of the sun. The heavy pall of evening beginning to spread itself across the grounds like a cloak. Over the gentle creaking of the whomping willow in the near distance Hermione's voice reached him. “Only a couple more minutes.” She said. “I see him now.”

“Is the rat with him?” 

“Weren’t you the one who was just saying-.”

“Shut it, Potter!”

Hermione sighed. He didn’t need to see her to know she was probably rolling her eyes. “Honestly, the two of you! Yes, he has the rat. Now hush or he’ll hear us.”

Heart suddenly thudding in his chest, Harry pressed himself further back against the rock and shifted up into a crouch. He could hear Ron’s footsteps crackling over the scattered twigs and gravel littering the path. Just as he was about to pass by, Draco quickly rose to his feet and harshly called “hey, Weasel!”

Ron stopped dead in his tracks and turned in Draco’s direction. Not noticing when Harry slipped out from the rocks and began to close in from behind. Careful to keep his steps quiet. The rat was on his shoulder, and much more aware of his surroundings than Ron because he caught sight of the little raven and took a flying leap into the grass. Making for the forest. 

“Scabbers!” 

Ron tried to go after his pet but Draco shoved the point of his wand into his face. “Don’t move!”

Harry made a grab for the falling rat but missed. The ugly thing scrambling up onto all fours and taking off with remarkable speed considering how old and fat it was only for Hermione to pounce in a manner that would have made Crookshanks proud. “Come on! We need to get to the Shack.”

“We can’t leave him.” Draco jerked his chin at Ron. “He’ll sick the professors on us for certain with his big bloody mouth.”

“We’ll take him with us.” Leveling his own wand at the other boy and doing his very best to replicate Tom’s commanding tone, Harry demanded. “Walk!”

Ron sent him a resentful glare but did as he was told.

They ended up having to stun the tree to get passed its flailing branches and into the tunnel beyond. Dark wet and narrow it smelled strongly of earth and silt and deposited them behind a broken down wall. The floorboards creaked dangerously beneath their weight as they clambered over it into the shrieking shack.

“What are you going to do to me?” Ron demanded, clutching his wand and doing an admirable job of not sounding as terrified as he should have while considerably outnumbered. 

“We’re not going to do anything to you. We just want the damned rat, Ron.” Harry snapped, sending the creature a look of loathing. 

“Well,” the boy demanded, face starting to go red, “What are you going to do to Scabbers?”

“No where near the amount that that bastard deserves.” A voice growled from the far corner of the room. Ron’s face lost all the color it had gained as soon as he caught sight of Sirius. 

“Sirius.” Harry had to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the distressed squeaking of the rat. “Where’s Tom?”

He disregarded the expression of horror that Ron directed at him as well as the strangled “you mean you knew? Y-You lied to us! You lied to... _ your soulbound is Voldemort? _ ”

“Riddle,” Sirius said while keeping a suddenly leery eye on Ron, “will be here shortly. He’s making sure the dementors can’t come near here even if they do catch wind of me. In the meantime,” he raised a-likely stolen-wand at Scabbers, “let’s see to-.”

A shadow flickered in the doorway leading out into the ruined hall and a voice shouted “expelliarmus!” The wand flew out of Sirius’ grip and clattered to the floor halfway across the room. With Draco still holding Ron at wand point Harry turned his own on the new comer.

“Harry.” There stood Professor Lupin, looking as haggard as he always did towards the end of the month and holding up the hand not containing his wand in a placating gesture. Giving Harry a good look at the moving map of Hogwarts that was clutched there. “I don’t know what he’s told you, what he’s promised you, but Sirius Black is a very dangerous man. He-“

“Was framed for killing my parents. By Pettigrew. And Dumbledore knew; he left him in Azkaban for 13 years so that I’d have to go to my muggle relatives. They made me live in the cupboard under the stairs until my acceptance letter arrived.”

Draco sent him an incredulous look. “ _ What?” _

“Harry. Cub. I’m terribly sorry for what you’ve gone through; I’d have taken you in if I could have. Your father and mother were my friends. But you have to understand that you’re being lied. Peter Pettigrew is dead.”

“With all due respect Professor,” Harry pointed to the rat In Hermione's hands. “Pettigrew is right there.”

“Ouch!” Hermione yelped as the rat sank its teeth into her finger. She dropped the little beast on reflex and it wasted no time in bolting for the opposite wall.

The shadows boiled and swirled, then parted around Tom’s form as he rose up from beneath them as if breaking the surface of dark water. His white wand rose and a silent spell shot across the room. The rat increased in size until it disappeared completely. Replaced with a dumpy wizard who skidded to a stop on his knees in front of him. Looking up at Tom with wide watery eyes before throwing himself down and beginning to kiss the hem of his robes.

“My Lord! You’ve returned! I am at your humble service! I-.”

Tom ferociously ripped his robes free of the other man’s grip, abject disgust twisting his features. “Do  _ not _ touch me!” He snarled, then looked to Sirius. “I didn’t go through all the trouble to pilfer a wand for your use so that you could throw it across the room. Fetch, Black.”

“Tom.” Harry huffed.

Sirius made a rude gesture in the other man’s direction before going to retrieve it. The brunet’s eyes shifting first to Ron, standing petrified, to Lupin, who appeared to be stunned by the combined revelation of Pettigrew being alive and the true identity of the man who, until that time, had been known to him as Keres. “There are two more people here than planned.”

“Obliviate is a spell that exists.”

Harry’s cheek earned him a disgruntled glance from the young Dark Lord. “Indeed. And it’s necessary for the boy, I think, but may not be for your Professor here. We’ll speak on the way back, Lupin.” There was no hint of a request in his voice; it was clearly non-negotiable. Turning his attention onto the rat, he snarled “on your feet you blubbering wretch!” 

Peter shuffled about for a moment before doing as he was told. Curled in on himself and shivering. Seeming to realize there would be no reward to gain from the man in front of him.

“Wrists together, and be quick about it. I tend to turn to Crucio when I get impatient.” He pointed his wand at the other man’s crossed wrists and waved it in a complex looping pattern. “Incarcerus serpenti!” A pale light shot from the tip, transforming into a serpent and winding itself around Peter in painfully tight coils.  **_“:Do not let him transform.:”_ **

Satisfied that their prisoner would not be able to escape, Tom gestured to the tunnel that they’d come through. “It’s already dark out; I see no reason to further waste time. The sooner we get back to the castle, the sooner we can obliviate those who need to be.” He turned his gaze on Ron and flashed his too sharp teeth in a terrible smile. “After you, Mr. Weasley.”


	27. Bad Moon

Through no choice of his own, Ron led the way back out through the tunnel to the shrieking shack, followed by Draco and Hermione, and then Peter who had Harry’s wand firmly planted in his spine. Sirius walked on one side of Lupin, occasionally sending him hopeful glances, and the Dark Lord at his other; movements more of a haunting glide than a walk, head full of glossy curls held high.

“I’m assuming you found them using that map you have with you?” The Dark Lord, Riddle was what he recalled him being referred to as, or simply Tom, had a pleasant voice. Low and smooth and purring. The kind that was easy to listen to for a dangerous amount of time. The kind that it was easy to obey without thinking much about it. “I’ll admit to not having gotten a good look at it but it’s certainly an impressive piece of magic. Where did you come by it?”

“He helped make it. James and I too. And the  _ rat _ .” Sirius lip curled back into a snarl that made him look far too much like his deranged cousin for Lupin’s liking. “That’s the Marauders Map.”

And the Weasley twins had certainly been using it to maraud until he’d caught them and confiscated it. 

“ _ You _ assisted in making this?” Riddle was looking across him now. Eyebrows raised. Something darkly playful on his face. “Why, I’d never have thought you were capable.”

“Ponce!”

“Really, mutt? That’s the best you have?”

“Snake tongued git!”

“Hmm. Better, but still average.”

“Because ‘dogfather’ is so original.”

Riddle just snorted and shook his head.

“You seem...friendly.” Lupin put forward warily.

“Riddles ok. For a snake.” Sirius grumbled. “Harry adores him. We have a mutual agreement to tolerate each other for his sake.”

“You’re not going to stay around him once you’re free, are you? He killed-.”

“My counterpart killed James and Lily Potter. I’m...well, from the past would be the easiest way to describe it. I’m here to make sure my disaster walking of a soulbound is looked after properly since he’s of interest to my Eternal, and to destroy Voldemort. Because there’s only room for one of us and I don’t appreciate the fact that he’s in my way. As such I’ve a truce of sorts with Dumbledore.”

The message of ‘running to him will do you no good’ was starkly clear. 

“I’m not about to claim I agree with him on everything Moony but he has better ideas than the snake faced lunatic. And I’m not about to go back to Dumbledore after he left me in that  _ place _ .”

“Let’s put the remainder of this conversation on hold, gentleman.” The young Dark Lord gestured to the faint light which issued from just ahead of them. “We’re approaching the end of the tunnel.”

Tom pulled a few steps ahead of them, then, to walk beside Harry. Placing a steadying hand on his shoulder as they started up the steps. 

The whomping willow was still stunned, shuddering slightly beneath the spell with the faint rustle of its narrow leaves. The castle rose black in the distance, stones shining beneath the faint candle light in the windows and the silver glow of the full moon which filtered down through the thinning clouds overhead.

It was with a sudden swooping realization that Lupin recalled what he’d forgotten to do in his haste to pursue the little group of students through the tunnel. He tried to retreat back into the darkness of the tunnel, but the clouds broke before he could and the moon swam into view.

All seven of them turned in surprise when a low growl rumbled from behind them. Harry’s eyes widening at the sight of the man’s scared face beginning to twist into something feral. Lips pulling back over sharpening teeth. Muzzle jutting forward.

“Bloody hell,” he heard Draco hiss in alarm. “He  _ is _ a werewolf!”

“H-he forgot his wolfsbane!” The pitched squeak from their prisoner was enough to push Tom into motion. The young Dark Lord seizing the little raven by his scruff and all but throwing him forward.

“ _ Run for the castle! Go!” _

None of them needed to be told twice. Harry only just managed to maintain the wherewithal to join Tom in keeping the other wizard at wand point as they ran. They only made it halfway up the first sloping hill before the wolf was on them. Mangy and thin with long limbs ending in something too human to be comfortably referred to as paws. Spine standing out stark against its back as it ran at then on all fours. 

Tom was in its path before it could pounce. Dark wings flared to either side to prevent the beast from dodging around him. The grass around the curling beneath the force of an oncoming chill as it stole across the grounds. A dark shape rushed in from the left and struck the werewolf broadside. The big black dog rolling along with it towards the nearby tree line of the Forbidden Forest. Yelping and snarling at each other as they went.

“Sirius!” Harry took off after them both without a second thought. Ignoring Tom’s shouted demands to come back and dodging around the swooping reach of a dementor as it dropped out of the night sky. More and more of them begin to dive and swirl through the air, cutting off the older wizard’s ability to chase him and forcing him to remain behind and defend the others; none of them able to cast the Patronus charm themselves.

The trees had never looked more forbidding than they did now, the root laden ground crushing over with frost as dread began to mount inside him. The faint high pitched ringing in the back of his head rapidly growing into full force screams and hissed demands. There were paw prints and blood smears littering the mossy ground. He could see more of the dark hooded figures up ahead. Swooping and diving like a flock of carrion birds. 

The forest parted around him and nearly pitched Harry over a small embankment leading down to the rocky shores of a lake. The water had frozen over entirely. There was no sign of the werewolf; it had likely been frightened off by the hoard of dementors. Sirius had shed the grim-dog’s form and now lay crumpled against the shore, defenseless and covered in wounds.

Scrambling forward, desperation overriding the leeching cold, he raised his wand and riffled through his memories. 

_ Plush cool grass beneath him. The gentle hiss of the nearby waves. A sky filled with stars, glinting silver against the dark. Tom’s warmth at his side as he pointed out constellations and told him ancient stories; voice felt more than heard where his ear rested against his chest. _

“Expecto patronum!” Nothing happened. The dementors had begun to turn their attention to him. Harry retreated a few steps, shaking violently in the cold, and snatched another memory at random.

_ He’d been poking through the various books stored in the library of Slytherin Manor for most of the evening and had finally drifted off to sleep in one of the many armchairs littering the space. Groggily coming back aware in near pitch darkness to the sensation of being carefully lifted. The faint glow of the all but dead embers threw a haunting cast over the handsome features of Tom’s face. His curls brushing his cheeks as he reflexively tucked his face into the crook of his neck. The comforting scent of peppermint bringing with it a sense of safety he doubted he’d ever properly be used to. _

“Expecto patronum!” A faint wisp of silver smoke. The dementor faltered but only for a moment. Hands coming up to reach for him as he desperately rifled through his own head.

_ The narrow stone staircase was dark, making it difficult to see the set of his features but they stood close enough together in the confined space that Harry knew his jaw would be clenched and his fists curled. If he were to touch him, it would be to discover that his body was drawn tighter than a bow string. But he didn’t. Instead he looked up into sooty blue eyes, looking down at him with so much emotion even as they all but blended into the surrounding shadows. “Of losing you? I’m terrified.” _

“ _ Expecto Patronum!” _ A blinding flash of silver exploded from the tip of his wand, rolling across the frozen lake like the blast wave of an explosion and throwing the dementors away. Harry blinked furiously, squinting against the brilliance and at length managing to make out the thick coils and horned head of a basilisk just as it reared back and drove the creatures up into the canopy overhead.

Weakness rippled through him like a tidal wave. The massive snake snapping and hissing at the lingering fiends even as it dimmed and then winked out. His knees turning to sand as he sagged onto the bank beside Sirius. Eyes heavy. The dementors closing in once more. 

The last thing Harry saw before losing consciousness was the glowing form of Tom’s patronus swooping low overhead.

Sunlight was spilling through the windows of the hospital wing when he woke up. The blurry image of the ceiling swimming before his eyes. Squinting, he reached for the bedside table and began a blind search for his glasses. Fingertips just managing to brush the wire frames before they were removed from his reach. A soft sigh issued from beside the bed.

“Those treatments never did fully fix your eyes; I suppose some damage just runs too deep.” Tom placed his glasses on his face, then. Smirking as he blinked furiously in an effort to readjust his vision. “With the hell you gave me over Yule about stretching myself too far you’re lucky I’m not nearly as petty as people like to claim.”

“Where’s Sirius? Is he-?”

“The mutt is fine.” Tom abandoned his chair in favor of perching on the edge of the bed. Leaning his back against the frame behind him. “They took him in for temporary holding in the Ministry while the matter is resolved. He did technically break out of prison, after all. Not to mention the fact that being an unregistered animagus is illegal. He’ll receive a trial over the summer but it’s only a formality.”

“He won’t have to go back?”

Tom shook his head. “Five years in minimum security is the term for being unregistered. He’s done his time and then some.”

Harry relaxed with a sigh. Sagging against the older wizard. Tom shifted slightly to better support him and reached over to stroke his hair. “How long have I been out?”

“Well, everything happened last night and it’s afternoon now. So not that long.” Tom reached into his robe and pulled out a chocolate bar. “Lupin asked me to give you this when you woke up.”

“They’re gone?” Harry tore open the wrapper and bit into the chocolate inside.

“The dementors?” Tom asked. “Yes. Dumbledore dragged Fudge through the Floo and made him get rid of the things personally.”

“And then you hung him from the highest tower of the castle by his toes?”

He laughed. “Had there been any justice in the world I would have.”

“Dumbledore didn’t let you?” Tom hummed. Harry pouted into the front of his soulbound’s robe. “He’s no fun.”

“No. No, he really isn’t.” The young Dark Lord agreed. “Pettigrew is in a cell. Hermione and Draco are sitting the exams you’ve been excused from but will be in to see you once they’ve finished. Ronald has been selectively obliviated and is with his family; I believe McGonigall had the unenviable task of informing them that their pet of 12 years who slept in the same bed as two of their sons was actually a strange wizard who’d turned over his friends to Voldemort and murdered multiple muggles. I’d guess that’s rather much of a shock.”

“Yes I’d guess so, too.” Harry said rather dryly as the door of the hospital wing swung open to reveal Mrs. Weasley, closely followed by Mr. Weasley the twins and Ginny who stopped dead in her tracks at the sight of Tom.

“Keres.” Mr. Weasley stepped up to him as Mrs. Weasley yanked Harry forwards into a nearly bone crushing embrace. Tom returned the offered handshake as he rose from his seat on the bed. “Thank you. We never would have known.”

“Nor would I have if Black hadn’t told me. It’s really him you should be thanking, Arthur.”

“The dog?” Tom nodded. “You knew? That he was-?”

“An animagus? Yes. I went to find him personally after the article about his escape was published in  _ The Daily Prophet _ , knowing he was either an important thing for Harrison to have in his life or a threat to be terminated.”

The other man looked at him warily. “You talk like you’ve killed before.”

“I think I’ll hold my silence on that much if it’s all the same to you.” He said. “Is Ron alright? I hope he’s not too affronted over being all but mugged over the rat.”

“He’ll be alright. Minerva wanted to talk with him for a while.”

“That’s good to hear.” He turned his gaze back towards the bed. Harry had managed to free himself from the witch’s grasp and was now talking with the twins. “Little One.” The smaller wizard looked over at him. “I have to go and speak with Professor Lupin and the Headmaster now. I’ll be back once I’ve finished and, if you’d like, once Madam Pomphrey allows it, I can take you back to the manor early.”

Once upon a time Harry had dreaded summers as they meant returning to the misery of Privet Drive. Now, though, it meant a precious handful more days alone with Tom. He nodded.

“I’ll stop by the tower to pack away your things, then. Once I’m finished with my meeting.”

He could tell from the look on Harry’s face that he was about as eager to allow Tom to leave as Tom was to go but he forced himself out of the hospital wing and through the castle’s curving hallways regardless. 

The office of the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor still lay in the same place it had while he himself had been a student but Tom found it stripped near completely bare when he arrived. Lupin standing on the opposite side of the desk from Dumbledore, fiddling with a stack of folders in front of him.

“Ah, Tom. There you are.”

“I had to wait for Harry to wake up, Sir.” He kept his voice measured and polite. Just as he always had when dealing with his least favorite Professor. “He’d been through enough as it was without having to regain consciousness alone and confused in the hospital wing.”

“The devotion that you have for Harry is a truly inspiring thing, Tom. It bodes well for you.”

He narrowly resisted the urge to sneer. “Why am I here, Dumbledore?”

“Because I’ve been...let go. At the Ministry’s insistence.”

“Because of something you didn’t ask for and cannot control?” Control the amount of indignance he injected into his tone to keep it just strong enough to be believable. Narrow his eyes and tighten his jaw. “Do you have anywhere else to go? Another source of income? Surely you’re not going to toss him out onto the street, Albus! Not because of Cornelius Fudge!”

“He’s done more for me than I could ever repay already. I couldn’t possibly ask more from him.” Lupin refused to meet either man’s eye.

“You’re welcome at my manor. At least until the matter of the trial is over. Black will want to take over with you from there, I think.” Charity? No. Though it would pass as that well enough. Well, maybe not to Dumbledore. And if he could pull the man gradually to his side, that would be one less soldier for the Light to fling at him later. “I know what it’s like. Being ostracized because you’re different. Being thought of as a monster for things you cannot stop. Besides, Harrison is fond of you.”

“That’s a generous offer, Keres. Or...should I call you Tom?” The Wolf was wary of taking anything from him, it seemed. Smart of him, really, as it all came with a cost. 

“Tom is fine in company like this.” Company that knew.

He resumed fiddling with the folders in front of him. “Like I said it’s a generous offer. It’s just…”

“That I’m who Voldemort used to be?” The cringe the other man made said enough. “Think about it. You don’t have to answer now.” Turning his gaze on Dumbledore again, he said “He’ll be permitted to stay in his quarters until the end of term?” The Headmaster nodded. “Good. Now, shall we move on to why we’re here?”

“As Remus here is no longer able to teach, Severus will be filling in for his remaining classes. But next year I’ll find myself in need of a new Professor. And, frankly Tom, I’ve grown tired of losing my staff to the curse your counterpart placed on the position.” Dumbledore said. “I’d like to offer you the post in a permanent capacity.”

“I see no reason not to accept.” Tom couldn’t fully keep his genuine surprise out of his voice. “Teaching, after all, is one career I truly considered. And this was the post I’d have wanted most out of all of them.” His dark eyes fell on the stack of folders. “I take it, those are for me?”

“My lesson plans from this year. Along with notes regarding any problems or particular requirements for each student.” Lupin pushed them forward. Tom’s long fingers wrapping around the stack of folders and picking them up. “I thought they’d be helpful.”

“I’ll be certain to read them over in detail and will be expecting your reply.” He looked to Dumbledore again. “If we’re finished?” Receiving a nod from the other man he turned and whirled back out the door. 

Once he was gone, Lupin glanced over at the Headmaster. “You really think that he can change?”

“His goals and aspirations? No. Tom is much like his distant ancestor in how tightly he’s grafted himself to his ambitions.” Dumbledore said, something almost sad in the twinkle of his eyes behind his half moon glasses. “The best that we can hope for, Remus, is that he can be amended in his methods.”

In the yawning silence following the other wizard’s exit, Lupin found himself without much faith in that much. 


End file.
